Divided They Fall
by Red Priest
Summary: The Justice League is a spent force after the fall of Watchtower. Batman and Wonder Woman try to work through the difficulties in their relationship, complicated by her being on the run, but the situation is only made worse when Talia al Ghul appears with Bruce's son. Elsewhere, Lex Luthor sets in motion the final phase of his plan to bring about the downfall of "the Superman".
1. A Family of Bats

**Author's Note: **Welcome to the story! A few notes before it starts: one, yes, this is a sequel. No, you don't have to have read the original story (titled_ Justice League_ _Divided_). The events of the previous story are mentioned in passing and you'll have a good, grounded understanding of what happened as the story progresses. As for people who read the previous story, you'll remember that I co-wrote the story, my friend and I splitting the chapters roughly evenly. This has changed. Now Gavin is only responsible for one character, Deathstroke, and the rest is all up to me. It's a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy the story. It takes place around six months after the fall of Watchtower at the end of _Divided. _I hope you stick along for the ride. Don't forget to follow and favourite, leave reviews! You know how we feel about them. They make us blush.

* * *

**A FAMILY **_of_** BATS**

* * *

"I'm still not used to your new haircut," Bruce said, nodding in Diana's general direction. She didn't see the nod, though – her eyes were elsewhere, gazing outside the window. There was something she seemed to like about cars, something Bruce could not understand. He wondered if what she enjoyed was the passivity; the fact she she had to do nothing at all and the car would keep going, or if she liked not having to be in control over her direction, her speed.

_Maybe she likes the freedom. _

Her hand reached up towards her hair and she turned back around, looking at him. They were on opposite sides of the limousine; Bruce didn't like to get too close, for worries that it would make Alfred uncomfortable. The glass between the driver and the passengers could be blacked out, of course, but Bruce didn't see the need. Bruce and Diana slept in separate rooms; their relationship was difficult to categorise at the best of times. And, with a permanent lodger in Dick Grayson, any change in that arrangement would be met with quips and retorts aplenty.

"I am still not accustomed to these dresses," she said softly, running her hands across her waist. The fabric clung to her, shaping her even more than her armour had.

"You can wear your armour around the manor. I doubt would Ares look for you here."

Her head turned and she smiled at him, weakly. _Maybe that wasn't the best joke to make, _he thought ruefully. Diana had been tormented inside over her decision to take Circe's life, and when the god of war Ares announced that he would begin to hunt for Wonder Woman to avenge his consort's death, she had tried to slip away to see Ares.

"They will take you and sentence you to death," Bruce had told her. Returning from a night dealing with a super-charged Poison Ivy, who had set herself up in an old laboratory, he'd found her writing a letter informing him of her intent to leave. "You will have no trial, no rights."

"Do I _deserve _rights, Bruce? I took her life, no matter what she had done –"

The news had deeply shaken Bruce too, but he had to be strong – for both of them. "Circe was vile, Diana. She made her choice when she sided with Brainiac. Raven backs up your story. If you hadn't, then Zatanna –"

" – would be dead and _Circe _would be facing justice! Instead I had her blood sprayed across my face when I slew her. My thinking was clear: _life would be easier if she were gone_, but where do I draw the line, Bruce? One death is how it _begins._"

He hadn't known what to say. Bruce Wayne had watched as Diana cried in front of him, and he hadn't even reached across and held her. His guts had churned and his mind told him to comfort her, but he'd done neither. He'd watched and regretted, because what she had done was _wrong. _On every level, it was wrong…

_But I forgive her, because she can't forgive herself. _

The relationship between the two of them had faded and, though Bruce had initially been filled with hope at the prospect of living together, the reality had been a world apart. They slept in different beds, in different rooms, in different wings of the house. Bruce slept closer to Dick than he did to Diana. It didn't bother him – one day, maybe. When things were fixed. When villains didn't run rampant around Gotham, when the city didn't need Batman as much as it did right now.

After persuasion that had taken months, Nightwing had convinced Bruce to take one night away, a night with Diana. They'd gone to a ball and he'd presented her as a close friend to no suspicion – some of them, no doubt, thought she was an escort. A high-class escort, but one nonetheless. Looking at her now, it was impossible to tell she was a princess of another world, an Amazon. Her formerly long and voluminous black hair was short and straight, tumbling around bare shoulders; the make-up she wore, instructed on putting it on by Barbra Gordon, changed her into a new woman entirely. Paler, less like someone from the sandy beaches of Themyscria.

"Will your break for tonight last the entire night, or just now that you're home?"

Wondering what the answer was she wanted to hear, he said: "Now that I'm home."

She nodded a distant nod and her eyes turned to the outside again. Bruce looked out his own window and saw gargoyles mounted on the brick columns. The Wayne family had always used gargoyles in their architecture; all through Wayne Manor and the old Wayne Enterprises buildings, gargoyles. Some nights he just sat on them, crouched, looking around. There was nobody to see him all the way up there, but he could see anything. From his stone perch he often wondered if that was how Superman felt, flying over the city of tomorrow. Bruce had some doubts on that front. Gotham more accurately met the criteria for the city of yesterday, with maybe the highest supercriminal-to-citizen ratio in the world.

The gates swung open at their arrival and they travelled up the winding path to the front of the manor. Outside rain was beginning to fall hard. When the car stopped, Alfred got out and opened Diana's door first, holding an umbrella up for her. Bruce sidled along the car seat to her side and exited via her side. Alfred, conflicted at who to offer the umbrella to, eventually decided that the best course of action was to please the lady with superhuman abilities. In his position, Bruce Wayne would have made the same choice.

"Master Wayne," Alfred said, holding back slightly. "There's someone in the house."

Bruce squinted at the door and saw what Alfred meant; the door handle was horizontal.

"How do you know?" Diana asked.

"When you lock from the outside, you raise the handle slightly to lock it, but it doesn't fall back down," Alfred explained, voice low. "When you close it from the inside, the handle is as you see it now – straight and horizontal."

Bruce went in first, followed closely by Diana. Even without his suit and equipment, he would still prove a formidable opponent in a battle. "Diana, stay here."

Her eyes parted in confusion. "What –"

"If it is someone looking for you…" He didn't finish the sentence, but she nodded all the same. Alfred came in behind Diana and closed the door, the sound of pouring rain from outside dying in intensity.

Slowly, Bruce made his way through the main hall of the house and saw light coming from the main sitting area. He peered inside the room and saw nothing but the light moving erratically, cast by the alight fireplace. _Whoever they are, they're in there_, he thought. _Drying themselves off in the rain?_

He pushed the door open quickly and looked around. There was a shape to the door and he thrust his fist out; the figure blocked it and served a follow up. He tried to swipe the woman – he was fairly certain it was a female – at her legs but she proved too quick for that. Their arms flashed back and forth, and she moved with a speed that impressed and confused him, but there was no time to consider it. She span in the air and kicked him hard in the face, grabbing his head and pushing it near the fire – too near. Fighting dirty, he thrust his fist into her lower jaw.

"Alright," the woman said, accent flavoured with the middle east, "enough."

_Her voice, it can't be – _

"_ATHENA, PROTECT ME!_" Diana cried, the doors to the room shattering and breaking apart as she entered, golden sword drawn and in hand. Unbidden, a thought rose to the forefront of his mind: _The sword she murdered with, the sword she killed with… _

The two women's eyes met. One wore a dress and wielded a sword, the other a leather, skin-tight costume. The seams were still visible in the stitching. Diana began to levitate slightly and moved towards the woman, noticing Bruce's bloodied lip.

"Who is this, Bruce?"

"Lower your sword, Diana."

The woman blinked her eyes heavily at Bruce and took a step forward towards Diana. "It is an honour to meet you, Diana of Themyscria. I have heard you are a fierce and brave warrior. You would make a fine assassin."

"Who are you?"

The woman glanced back to Bruce, though he was trying to avoid her eyes. It was then his eyes fell upon the child sitting on the chair by the fire. A chair he hadn't noticed before.

Distantly, he heard the woman said, "I am Talia al Ghul," but his eyes were still on the boy.

"Damian?"

The little boy nodded, and Bruce Wayne's heart sank.

"Diana, get Alfred," Bruce said, his eyes still on the boy.

"I'm here, Master Bruce."

"Take the boy and Diana for something to eat, down to the kitchens. Talia and I need to talk."

The boy looked at Bruce a few more seconds and then left with Diana and Alfred, leaving only him and Talia in the room. For what felt like forever, he stared at Talia, but all he could see was the boy. The boy's jawline and his eyes, his hair and his nose. There was nothing of Talia in there, it was all Bruce Wayne.

"Why are you here, Talia?"

"You have to take him for some time, Bruce."

"We discussed this."

She nodded. "And times have changed. I'm in danger, and that means he is too. Few people know of his link to you, with you he will not be found."

"I can't take him."

Her throat and nose flared a little. "You will. You don't have a choice. I will come back for him when I am safe. You know I would not do this if I had another way."

In the firelight her hairband shone, her brown hair in strands all around her face. Talia al Ghul, once a villain of Batman and a lover of Bruce Wayne, was here because she truly had no other option.

"What kind of trouble?"

"The worst kind of trouble."

_Her father. _Ra's al Ghul, the leader of the League of Shadows, had been a problem for Batman for a long time, and the thought of him returning to Gotham amidst the chaos he was only just keeping at bay was not welcome. "Have you had a difference of opinion?"

"In some ways. I do not wish to discuss it. You will take him."

"And do what?"

"You know what. He's thirteen, and trained. Trained by _me, _a master assassin. More than the first was –"

"Dick was different. Things have changed. I won't make that mistake again." _Jason was young too, and I won't let there be another. _"Robin is gone. No more. Tim provides assistance to Nightwing through communicator. _Nightwing. _Not Robin. He doesn't need me."

"But you need him. He is here, is he not?" Bruce said nothing. "That is a yes. He is here to help you clean up the mess that is Gotham City."

"He will not be a Robin."

"For now, he will just be here. He will be your son. Be a _father _to him, Bruce. You of all people know the importance of good parents –"

"Get out." Talia did not move. "_Get out._"

"Be his father," she said, and was gone.

* * *

"He hasn't spoken to me yet," Damian Wayne said, aiming his foot high and kicking a practice dummy.

Dick Grayson watched on from a nearby table. When Alfred had wind of the extent of the situation, he'd contacted him quickly, asking that he return to the manor. Batgirl had taken over duties in Gotham for the remainder of the night, though it had been quiet – for Gotham's standards.

"If I had a minute of sleep for every time Bruce went an hour not talking to me," Dick said, rubbing his eyes, "I'd be a far more well-rested person."

Damian aimed another kick high, landing it. _The kids got skill, I'll give him that. _It had been three years since Dick and Damian had last spent any time together, but even now it was easy to fall into the 'big brother' dynamic.

All of the Robins had been unique in their own ways, their relationships changed and shifted constantly. Dick and Tim Drake, who'd taken the mantle of Red Robin instead of Robin, had been close friends. Where Dick had been raised to be an acrobat, Tim had worked at the skills for a long time, often enlisting Dick for help. They'd become close. Jason Todd, the second Robin, had a more explosive temperament, and it led to a dark end for Jason, one that Nightwing didn't like to think about too much. Over a year later, it still stung bitter and sore in his mind.

"Can we practice?" Damian asked, turning to face Nightwing. His costume was very basic, more a training suit than anything. Nightwing had wondered if he would let Damian become Robin. _No, he won't. No after Jason. _

"Sure. Any preferred apparatus?"

He pointed at the two sticks that hung on his belt and Nightwing nodded. "A pretty good choice, if I do say so myself. Just turn the stunner off, okay? God forbid you get a lucky blow and fry me." He lifted them off his belt and threw one to him.

"Ready?"

"Yeah!"

Damian thrust the baton out and it became a staff. _Damian knows how to play_, Nightwing noted with a smile.

"Let's go."

* * *

Damian was on the floor, Dick standing over him. Sweat dripped from Nightwing's brow. _The boy sure knows how to fight, though not good enough. _Damian had separated his staff into two distinct batons and fought with them – furiously. Nightwing had chosen to stick with the single staff.

"What did you do wrong?"

The kid sighed and got to his feet. "Legs."

"Yes. Legs. You keep aiming for that killer blow, you're trying to _hurt _me – which I'm not taking personally, by the way – but it's not all about the body and head. Your opponent has sticky-out bits that are easier to reach."

"I was taught to go in fast and hard. Aggression was at the, uh, base of my training."

"Well, I mean, you should try to be more forgiving. Your opponent may have sticky-out bits, but they may also have had some bad circumstances that have led them to a point in their life where you're fighting them. Some criminals deserve a second chance. And second chances are significantly harder with a minor cause of serious brain damage."

Damian laughed and nodded, soaking up Nightwing's words like a sponge. It was nice to have a member of the Batfamily that wasn't Barbra that listened to what he said. "And what about the others – what about the Joker? Does he deserve a second chance?"

Nightwing opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off before he even began.

" – sometimes it's not about second chances. Sometimes it's just about remembering who you are." Diana was flying down towards them from the upper areas of the Batcave.

"Wonder Woman?" Damian asked.

She smiled and nodded. "But you can't tell anyone I'm here."

"You look different."

"I had a haircut."

"Ahhh." He paused. "Are you and my dad – close?"

"I'm not sure. If you find out, will you tell me?"

"Mhm," he said. The kid began to twirl the batons, leaving them to slap them against the training dummy. He'd activated the stun mode again, Nightwing observed; blue sparks flared up at every point of contact.

"How is he?" Nightwing asked.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow.

"Don't know why I asked. He hasn't spoken to you at all?"

"Not yet, but give him time, Nightwing. He will come through."

"I hope so. And not just for his sake anymore." Dick looked on and the young boy; his fists worked so fast and in such good rhythm. "He's trained well." A question occurred to him. "Diana, did you know…?"

"Know what? About Damian? Of course. We've met before. Just the once, a few years ago. It seems like a lifetime ago now."

"Most things do. When do you think he'll come around?"

Diana shrugged and shook her head a little. "Bruce has never been predictable. Brooding season is most of the year. He's been through a lot."

_Doesn't the time come when your childhood traumas are a part of your past? _Bruce Wayne's withdrawn nature made Bruce an excellent hero, but he failed on a fundamental level to form working relationships. He struggled with Dick, with Tim, with Jason, and he would fail with Damian. Nightwing knew that Batman didn't have a heart, but did Bruce Wayne? _I hope so. _There was little evidence for it, and it made Nightwing sad. Inside Bruce was darkness and more darkness; when he unleashed Batman onto criminals, it was a release, Dick reckoned.

"Will you stay?" Nightwing asked.

Diana's head turned away from the boy and to Dick. "What makes you think things have changed?"

He shrugged. "I just know."

She smiled. "No, I won't stay."

"When are you leaving?"

A pause. "Tonight."

"And you won't reconsider?" he asked, trying his best. He enjoyed having Diana around; the charged relationship between she and Bruce provided him with a lot of material for hilarious jokes.

"One less complication in Bruce's life is best for now." Nightwing nodded, accepting her decision.

Dick Grayson and Diana of Themyscria watched the boy, and together they thought of how much he resembled his father; the jawline, the hair, and the eyes. The eyes most of all._ Eyes that look right through you; eyes that know what to look for._

_You've got a good shot here and making this work_, Nightwing thought. _Don't mess it up, Bruce._

_Don't mess it up._


	2. A House of Cards

**Author's Note**: Ah, Lex Luthor. Probably one of my favourite characters in the universe, definitely up there with Joker as my favourite villain (who _will _make an appearance in the story, don't you worry). This chapter draws from a number of Luthor-centric titles in the world, including _The Unauthorised Biography of Lex Luthor_, _Luthor: Man of Steel_ among others. It attempts to make Lex into a character you can understand more easily, one that doesn't hate Superman simply because he's different. There are reasons in the bald head of his, and I found this chapter really fun to write because it was great to get _into_ that. In any case, I hope you enjoy the chapter. The next chapter shall be posted on Monday. Oh, and don't forget to review! :3

* * *

**A HOUSE **_of _**CARDS**

* * *

_It will stand as a beacon, a beacon for humanity, towering high over the high skyline of Metropolis. _

The Metropolis Science Spire was ever-growing; the L at the top still little more than a skeleton. Behind it, the sun was disappearing behind the horizon, shadows spread out over the blue waters, the sky coming to life with deep reds and purples and pinks. To Lex Luthor, the spire was a symbol – a symbol of the potential of mankind, reaching for the sky. _Not just a symbol, _he thought. _A symbol people can touch, one that will remind them of their saviour… _

The entrance to his office opened and footsteps followed, the quiet squeaking of wheels on highly polished floors. The cleaner drew into where he usually started, by Lex's desk, and began to sweep.

"How you doin' tonight, Mr Luthor?" His hands pushed and pulled back the brush, drawing the dirt into a pan.

Lex smiled. "How many times have I said you can call me Lex, Stan?"

Stan lifted the pan and tipped the dirt from Lex's office floor. "Oh, I don't know. Once, twice, a hundred times. It ain't easy calling you Lex, Mr Luthor. A respect thing."

A laugh from Lex, a real one. "When you get a bill, who's it addressed to?"

He lifted his head, confused. "Me?"

Lex looked at him.

"Oh. Stanislaw Johnston." He tipped his hat with a smile and they both laughed.

"I'm doing very well tonight, Mr Johnston. And you?"

"Can't complain, Mr Luthor. Can't complain." Lex got up off the ledge, lifted the trash can at his feet and walked to Stan's trolley, tipping in the rubbish. "Thanks."

Lex sat back on edge of his desk and looked out of the window that formed the outer wall of his office, back towards the spire. Stan joined him, standing at his side, resting his hands on the top of his brush.

"She's sure gonna be a beauty when she's done, isn't she?"

Lex nodded. "Yes, she is."

"Lookin' forward to it. Might bring my kids to the opening day. My boy, Freddy, he does well in science, maybe it'll inspire him to go more."

"He cuts class?"

"He's thirteen," Stan said, voice gloomy. "Hoping he'll grow out of it."

Lex reached into his desk and fished out an envelope. In the corner, the LexCorp logo was embossed in a deep black, slightly elevated from the paper. "Give this too him as incentive. A special invitation to the spire opening from the CEO, if he gets an A in science."

"You don't have to do this, Mr Luthor. Honestly."

Lex closed his drawer and smiled at Stan. "Call me."

"Will do, Mr Luthor."

The doors to Lex's office slid open and Tess Mercer entered. During the time where Lex was assumed dead by the United Status and their population, Tess had overseen the day-to-day operations of LexCorp. _A loyal employee if ever there was one. _Her dress was tight and black, falling to her knees. It plunged deep down at the neckline, exposing her breasts. _Always so obvious, Tess. _Stan turned to see her arrive, and Lex didn't miss the look she gave him.

"You can go for the night, Stan. Thank you for your help."

"Thank you, Mr Luthor." He slid the brush back into the slot on the trolley and pulled it out past Tess, out of the automatic doors. They closed behind him.

Tess watched as he left, and then turned back to Lex. "Have you seen the news?"

"A few times. You mean tonight?"

Heels clicking as they slapped against the ground each time, she made her way to the television and looked around for the remote. "More money than god and his two sisters and you still haven't invented a TV remote that has a bleeper like a wireless phone."

"Not a bad idea, Tess. Maybe we should put you in engineering." She rose an eyebrow. He laughed. "We'd need someone for the base, I think. Fit it into the monitor."

"Put it under the sofa cushions," she said, checking underneath them. Nothing. "It's the first place anybody would check."

Lex shook his head and followed her, sitting down on the single seater. "True, but if we choose the position, we change the way that people think about it. We set the standard." His hand reached down to the left hand side of the single-seater, lifted the remote, and handed it to Tess. She shook her head, red hair bouncing as she did it.

The remote pointed at the television and it flickered on. "What have you got for me?" he asked.

"Six months later and he's been sighted less and less. The press are deriding him hard, all of the members of the League. Him in particular."

She wasn't telling Lex anything he didn't already know; in fact, he'd orchestrated most of the criticism in the newspapers, on the television. _But Tess doesn't have to know that. _She strayed the moral line that sometimes Lex felt he was the only one willing to cross, for the good of humanity. If she felt he was going too far, perhaps she would betray him. He wasn't willing to take that chance.

"Does he ever give interviews?"

"No, never. He rushes in and out, cameras see nothing more than a blur. Seven years after he first cropped up and I've wrapped my head around him flying, but his running. It's hard to believe a man can run that _fast_." Her eyes watched the screen, footage of the red blur frozen on the screen.

"He _isn't_ a man."

"My daughter wants to marry him." Tess laughed. "She her daddy and me a couple of days ago, at breakfast."

Lex's eyes were on the blur. Red and yellow mingled together, blue in the background. "I don't think she'll be the only one."

"I agree. Every little girl wants to marry him, and every little boy wants to be him. They wear the symbol on their shirts."

Slowly, Lex Luthor nodded. "That's what makes him so dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Tess said, her head tilting inquisitively to the side. "I don't think so…"

"_I_ do."

"You know all about danger, don't you Lex?"

He rose from his chair and took a few steps towards Tess, close enough to feel her breath on his face. Reaching down, he took the remote from her and flicked off the television. The afterglow from it illuminated his smile for a few more seconds, and then he turned and walked away. _She'll be licking her lips right about now. Husband or not, she's desperate to rise, and rise high. _

He'd thought hard about promoting her to the head of LexCorp whilst he was dead; he couldn't reveal himself in public again, not whilst Brainiac was at large. Lex had to remain dead for a while, for the weeks where the machine's invasion of Earth and Atlantis was at its peak. He'd hidden away, and then returned, retaking LexCorp from Tess.

She knew, of course; he gave her instructions, but if she had chosen to defy him on any matters, there was little he could have done, save having her killed and replaced. But that would be have been in bad taste; suspicion would have been intense when he returned.

The press conference where he revealed his death was a ruse had brought heat onto him, from the press, but he had sated them easily enough. Rarely did Lex Luthor play the victim, but his poker face was prepared, otherwise his house of cards would fall… and that would not do. Not at all.

"Are you coming to the Perry-Vaus fundraiser tonight?"

"No, I have a meeting tonight."

"With?"

Lex settled into the seat at his desk, and then watched Tess' face carefully. "Booster Gold."

There was nothing there but confusion and surprise; Tess was never gifted with innate acting ability, so he could be reasonably certain her surprise was genuine. "For?"

"Nothing important. The Perry-Vaus fundraiser, it's for the exclusive school?"

"If by _exclusive _you mean it admits only ten students a year, then yes, it's exclusive. You ought to know, you're the one giving a _very _generous donation tonight. Unfortunately, you can't make it. Sometihng came up. Not that he'll be paying any attention to a word I say. That's what this dress is for." A pause. "Did you think it was for you?" She winked.

He smirked. "I have an employee named Stan, the man you just saw here. He has a son – Freddy. I'd like him to be one of those ten. Freddy is a bright boy, tell the headmaster I would consider it a _personal _favour to me. Ask him when you hand him over my, as you put it, very generous donation."

"Sure, Lex, but next semester. The enrollment will surely be over by now. One of the other children would have to be –"

"A _personal _favour, Tess." He rose and turned his back on her, looking out of the window. His eyes focused on the spire once more. Even at night, construction crews worked away inside it. _Slave away. _The unions were somewhat furious, but they had a contract. If it was violated, there would be consequences.

"All right," Tess said, clearly irritated. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The clicking of her heels resonated through the entire room. "Have a good time, Tess. Give everyone my best."

* * *

Lex stared out of the window for a long time, watching the spire. Thoughts drifted through his mind and he considered each and all of them; a careful man. He thought some of Tess, of the man of steel, of Booster Gold; of Green Arrow and Wonder Woman. But most of all, Deathstroke played on his mind.

For some time now, the assassin had been on his mind. Lex had sent a clone to deal with Brainiac, knowing that the android's response would be aggression. Lex's hope was that the android's killing brute Doomsday would have made short work of the clone and Deathstroke, but things had grown out of hand – the gun-for-hire's regeneration had gotten in the way and he'd fled_. _The artificial intelligence unleashed Doomsday on Metropolis, as Lex knew he would. Some time ago, he'd received word that the Kryptonian monster had returned, controlled by some collar. When he discovered Brainiac had returned too, he set his plans in order.

_And all fell into place, all except Deathstroke. _

He'd assassinated the archenemy of Green Lantern, Sinestro, and for that Lex was grateful. Sooner or later, he would have called a hit on the leader of the Sinestro Corps, and that made it all the easier. Unfortunately, he could complicate things for Lex. Deathstroke did not have the full story; all he knew was that Lex tried to make some sort of deal. He may not be clever enough to piece together the details, but if the media got wind, all the money of "god and his two sisters" wouldn't be enough to quell the story.

_It is best I deal with it soon. _As he made a mental note to contact Floyd Lawton (stage-name Deadshot), there was a buzzing sound from the telecom behind him. His chair slowly turned and he pressed the button.

"Mr Luthor? A Mr Carter is here to see you."

"Send him in, Miss Graves."

"Yes, sir."

The line went dead and, moments later, the doors slid apart to reveal Michael Carter. His swagger said as much about him as Lex ever needed to know and, had he not studied the man's life and personality extensively, he would certainly be far more well-informed now, seeing him walk.

"It's good to see you Michael. Or do you prefer Booster?"

"Booster's good to me."

"Of course," Lex said. He motioned to the seat in front of him. With casual indignance, Booster Gold sauntered towards the chair, and finally took a seat. "How have you been?"

"I've been better."

Lex lowered his head, frowning. "All this business with the United Nations is unfair, I'll admit. Did they give you no warning?"

"Nope, they just dropped me like a hot stick. I was good at what I did, but hell, it's their loss."

"It sounds like a wrongful dismissal suit, if I ever knew one."

Booster Gold laughed too hard for it to be sincere. "And do you know one?"

"Oh," Lex smiled, "_I do._" In truth, there was no hope for any sort of lawsuit; Lex had padded the right pockets and ordered the dismissal himself. Several people at the UN had been sad to see him go. Nothing that couldn't be remedied with a new car, a swimming pool, a free pass to Metropolis University.

Booster Gold was not in costume, as asked by Lex. He had come dressed as a member of the public, or a businessman. It would draw less attention that way; few people knew the face beneath Booster Gold. In truth, he was a spent force. Little more than a poster child for cereal and action figures.

"Why am I here, Lex? Sending an unmarked car, all the secrecy. I'm not _stupid._"

Lex shrugged. "You certainly are a lot cleverer than some give you credit for." He noted the smug grin on Booster's face with marked approval, but he did not show it. "I do have other motivations for calling you here."

With great dramatic flourish, Booster Gold sank back into his chair. _He has no tact at all. _"Listening. Make a pitch."

"The public's belief in their Man of Steel is waning. The Justice League is all but finished, pushed apart by their own tragedies. Wonder Woman's slaying of the sorceress Circe has made her a target and she's been on the run from the realm of Tartarus; people tolerate the Kryptonian less and less as every day passes – they believe him to be responsible for Brainiac's invasion." He shook his head. "It disheartens me to see people lose hope."

"And what do you suggest?"

"We give them it back. I suggest we give them _hope._ There are no heroes around today that can provide that now. Cyborg, dead. Green Arrow gone; Black Canary, dead. Flash –"

"Batman is still fighting," he interrupted.

"This is true, but Batman doesn't give hope, he brings fear. He lurks in the shadows, more a villain than a hero. There's no love there, only a grudging respect. The way people see it, he's dealing with a mess he caused too. Supercriminals didn't start appearing until he did. He did to Gotham what the Kryptonian did to earth, just not with aliens."

In fact, Lex knew all about the breakout – he had organised it himself. All he had done was demand some spare keys and left them in the path of Harley Quinn. Perhaps Joker could not be easily manipulated, but his clown companion was as idiotic as Booster Gold, despite her medical degree.

But Lex's plans did not always work out; his orchestration of the mass breakout of Arkham Asylum was to distract and separate Batman from the Justice League, but he prioritised_. _"But he's apart from the League now. For all intents and purposes, it is disbanded. Only in name does it live on."

"You're still avoiding the subject. Why do you want me?"

Lex smiled. "You are not corrupted. You can still be a symbol."

"Of?"

Lex smiled and tilted his head to the side. "Hope."

Booster Gold sat up in his chair. "You want to make me –"

"You? No, of course not." Lex rose from his chair and Booster Gold seemed to diminish a little. Lex turned around, facing the window. "Look out over that city, Booster Gold. That is the greatest city in the world. That is what it's about. The city and the heroes who make it – the true heroes, not the false idols. Not the aliens. No."

"If Superman and the others hadn't stopped the invasion –"

Lex spun around. "They _caused _the invasion, Booster. You are a smart man, you know it. If the Kryptonian had never come to Earth, nor would Brainiac!" He slammed his fist down onto the table and Booster jerked back a little.

There was a heavy pause where Lex got a hold of himself again. _Being questioned by this imbecile makes me furious, but he is key. Without his support this plan will fall apart. _

Booster Gold sat up in his chair. "What do you need me to do, Lex?"

"I want to give you an irrefutable reputation, Booster. I want to imbue you with hope that passes on infectiously to the people of Metropolis, and eventually to the people of the world. I want your costume to be more famous than the red and blue of the Kryptonian."

"… How?"

"Your abilities are not as strong as they should be, but that can be fixed. My scientists have been battling with it for weeks, but they've unlocked the key to making you powerful. A new suit, for starters. An iconic suit. I've had it custom made for you."

"_Iconic_, you say?"

Lex smiled and nodded at Booster Gold. _A good smile is key to trust_, and Lex Luthor had a very trusting smile. Very trusting indeed.

"When can I begin?"

"We could begin the publicity and have you flying the streets in no time at all. Children will wave for you in the streets, women will swoon at the sight of you. They will have hope with you. I promise. More faith than they have now for the heroes."

A long look shared between Lex Luthor and Booster Gold, and then a nod. Lex extended his hand and Booster Gold took it, gripping tight and shaking.

* * *

Lex Luthor took a sip from a glass of water, the ice chiming lightly against the class.

_Hope isn't an endgame, _Lex Luthor thought as he looked out at the LexCorp spire. _It is a building block, the foundation for a tenuous house of cards. Hope is simply the start of something much greater. The elevation of humanity above the clouds, somewhere that even men of steel cannot fly. _

_But he sets the bar too high for humanity. Superman is the death of hope, the death of hands lifted towards the sky, hands reaching inward to our souls. For humanity to soar, the bar must be lowered. For humanity to soar, the bar must fall. _


	3. A Room of Masks

**Author's Note**: Time to return to everyone's favourite smooth-talkin' mercenary. In the last story there was quite the following for Deathstroke, so his story will continue. His story will intersect the others every now and again. He's a lot of fun to write, and my friend was happy to continue. He had a lot of great ideas for Slade's future and who was I to tell him they didn't deserve a place? I look forward to hearing what you all think. The reception for the first two chapters was great. I love all you guys! I reply to pretty much every review, so keep writing them! It's wonderful to hear what you think. Quick note on the timeline, this chapter takes place more or less at the same time as Lex's previous chapter, _A House of Cards. _They run together but in separate cities. as you'll see. In any case, I'll stop talking now. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**A ROOM **_of _**MASKS**

* * *

Since he had slain Sinestro, demand for Deathstroke had gone through the roof – but, unfortunately for Slade, this infamy came with a price. The police were on a never-ending hunt for him; every few days he was forced to change his hiding place. It wasn't a difficulty, no, but an inconvenience? Definitely. Word had reached him through various channels that they were searching Metropolis for him, led by his last confirmed sighting.

_Well, sighting of the gymnast I hired to wear a cheap knock-off of my armour and run across the rooftops, anyway. _

Slade had thought that now was the time to make his grand re-entrance to the criminal underworld, but he had done it elsewhere; the place where he became the apex of the mercenary food chain once again. Metropolis harboured a different sort of crime – the type that wore suits; a dollar slipped into a pocket, a favour between old friends. But Gotham City was the home of a different class of crime.

His armour was concealed by a long trench coat and hood, and it flapped as he turned into an alleyway, a gust of wind lifting it slightly. Rubble cluttered the ground; buildings burned out and crumbling. Despite the events of six months ago – Joker's exploits with the fear-laughing gas hybrid – the Narrows seemed largely unscathed. _Then again, any amount of damage seems natural here. _

Dark clouds in the sky sailed by slowly, unmolested by any massive symbols of light in the sky. For two weeks now, the sky had been absent of the sign. The people had argued with the GCPD, and they'd come to the conclusion that it was best to remove it for now – it seemed to only make the supercriminals worse. With Batman still failing to capture all of them that the Arkham break-out unleashed on the streets, support for him had failed. Even the appearance of Nightwing in Gotham did little to quell the resentment.

The time of heroes was coming to a swift and brutal end; they were toppling, one by one, from the massive pedestal the public had raised them on years ago. Now they _blamed _the likes of Superman and Martian Manhunter for the Brainiac invasion, insisting he was drawn to Earth by the extra-terrestrials living here – last of the Kryptonians and the Martian races. The world had become so focussed on tearing down the Justice League that they were oblivious to the escalating crime rates. Deathstroke never had any fondness for them – _Righteous assholes _– but when he visited Metropolis and found parts of it to be as bad as Gotham, it almost made him miss them.

A white piece of paper, crinkled bad, lifted by a gust of wind was sent tumbling towards him. He snatched it out of the air and smoothed it out, seeing the trusting smile of Lex Luthor looking back at him. Above his head it said, **in Earth we trust**.

Slade chuckled a little. "You crafty, bald bastard," he muttered. "You fooled the whole world – but not me."

With a shake of his head he balled up the paper and tossed it aside and moved on. By Slade's guess, no one alive knew Luthor had orchestrated the attack on Earth. No one except him. _I bet you never thought I'd figure it out, _he thought. _Will I tell the world your secret? We'll see. _

As the wind picked up Slade descended a steep set of stairs to a cast-iron black door, which he thumped the door with a clenched fist and waited. A burly bouncer opened it moments later. "You lost, pal?"

"No," Slade replied. "I'm busy. Move."

"You want to say that again?" The bouncer flexed his muscles in an attempt to intimidate.

"I will since you asked me so nicely," Deathstroke said and lowered his hood. "Move."

The orange and black mask was known through the planet – known, and feared. Slade loved to see the mixtures of reactions when they saw him. _It's been too long. _A blend of fear, shock and awe. "Christ, man, I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't! –"

"Stop the apology and get out of the way," Slade snapped, barging past him.

He entered the club. Loud music thumped and lights flashed bright inside; scantily-clad women danced on raised stages surrounded by leering men, the bar at the back of the room occupied by men in suits. All around the room thugs with ratty black masks watched the crowd, an automatic weapon never too far from their hand.

"Take me to him," Slade said to the bouncer, who'd been following him like a lost puppy.

"This way," he replied.

The big bouncer guided Deathstroke across the room to a black curtain, which he parted. Deathstroke found himself in a small red-walled room, a black oak roundtable in the middle. At the back of the table, on the other side of the room, sat Black Mask, namesake glinting and clean; white suit freshly pressed. Around the table were men in expensive suits, all of them deep in conversation. When they noticed him, they fell silent. The curtain fell shut, muffling the music.

"Slade," Black Mask chuckled. "I thought you were incognito?"

"I've been quiet long enough."

"Well, don't just stand there – take a seat."

Deathstroke took the one free seat on the opposite side of the table, clearly for guests. Slade noted how uncomfortable it was. _Don't let them relax and they'll agree to anything, just to get out of the damn chair. _

"Take a hike," Black Mask said to his gang. Like a pack of loyal docks they stood and left the room, streaming out in single file. When the last of them had left, a guard closed a metal sliding door across the curtain. There was only one guard in the room.

Mask met mask; they stared at each other for what felt like a long time before Deathstroke spoke.

"Who?"

"Oswald Cobbleplot."

"Penguin?" Slade asked. "A bit low, isn't it? Cutting off the head?"

"It's better than trying to take the body," the guard said, deciding to pitch in. _Looks like you're giving a bit too much freedom to speak. It will kill you. _

"I liked you better when you just closed the door and had no balls. Shut up." He turned back to Black Mask. "How do you want it done?"

"Send a message," Black Mask said, leaning across the table, pointing at Slade with calloused fingers. "Show Gotham that I am not to be _fucked _with."

_As long as your money is green, I won't pay any attention to your bruised ego. _

"Sure. You got the first half of my payment?"

"Not today, I'm afraid."

Slade clenched his jaw, though Mask couldn't see it. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard you."

"You ears aren't that far gone, old timer. You heard right."

"Any reason why I'm not getting paid?"

"I've seen your work – but it's best I keep my cards close to my chest for now. After all, Luthor died under your watchful eye."

_Anything to avoid paying me. _"I think you'll find he is quite alive."

"A fact you didn't see to personally – you were too busy crawling through miles of sewage."

"I don't start a contract until I am paid half in advance. That's my policy."

Black Mask shrugged. "Make an exception."

"I don't make _exceptions._"

"Then maybe I don't need you."

"Maybe I should cut off some or all of your fingers for wasting my time."

"Hey!" The guard grabbed Slade's shoulder. "You don't get to talk to the boss –"

Slade's blade was in his hand before the man knew what was happening; it cut clean through skin, muscle and bone. Blood spurted like a red foundation across the room, the arm below the elbow thumped onto the carpeted floor. He screamed, clutching his stump in wide-eyed shock. As he leapt to his feet he knocked his chair over, swinging the blade hard across the man's neck.

"I don't like having my time wasted," Slade told Black Mask as the man's severed head rolled across the table. "Here is my arrangement: give me my money, and I won't hang you up by your feet and gut you."

Black Mask began to chuckle again. "Looks like you haven't lost your touch after all." Mask sighed. "You want a wire transfer or a good ol' fashioned suitcase full of cash?"

"You know I hate paper trails," Slade replied absently, wiping the blood from his blade before sheathing it.

"Briefcase it is." He pressed a button under the table and asked loudly for someone to bring payment for Mr Wilson, and for someone to come clean up the damn body.

* * *

Rain lashed down, lightning darting across the dark backdrop, cracks of thunder sounding. He marched back up the steps quickly, coat sealed and hood up. It had gone much better than he thought it would. He was approaching the mouth of the alley when he was stopped by a glowing, partially transparent wall of yellow light. "I wondered how long it would take you," he said, turning to face his opponents.

Barring his way was a blue-skinned alien with no hair and blazing red eyes, and to his side a muscular lizard with dark olive scales and fangs that seemed to go on for days. _I didn't know Killer Croc's brother was a Lantern. _They both wore the yellow suits traditional to those of the Sinestro Corps, the yellow counterpart to the Green Lanterns.

"You expected otherwise?"

"Do you aliens come here with no problems? I'd have thought the military would have a problem with you coming and going so freely," he said as he slid his case of money across the floor and out of harm's way. "Not even in the military. What about _immigration_? Do you have green cards?"

The two of them came closer to him; in the depth of Deathstroke's body, blood and adrenaline welled.

"I'm going to enjoy listening to you scream," he snarled.

"Calm yourself, Arkillo," the blue alien growled in reply to his friend. "I want to rip out his heart and make him watch it beat before you consume him whole."

"Am I meant to be frightened?"

Again, both exchanged glances. Not even a trickle of fear, but perhaps a trickle of something else… _Can they feel it as I do?_

"You seem confident for a man with nowhere to hide," Arkillo "Killer Croc's Brother" replied.

"Since I skewered your beloved leader, rest in peace, I've been researching."

"Then you know to fear us."

"Big on fear, aren't you?" Slade sighed. "I had a lot of homework to do. It seems there's a colour for everything under the sun. Green, yellow, red, orange, white, black – but what caught my attention was your rings. I have to hand it to you, I was impressed. The most powerful weapons in all the universe, but they aren't without their flaws. Green hates yellow, for example, and what really caught my eye –"

Slade opened his coat to show the black and yellow armour; around his neck were a set of dog-tags, and a small string. On the end of the string looped was a tiny blue ring, glowing brightly in the open air. As it shone his own opponent's bling seemed to dim, both men even backed off a little. " – is that yellow doesn't get along with blue."

"How did you come by that?"

"With great difficulty. I spent two-thirds of my fortune searching for it, and I'm a rich man. You know how they work – on the death of their owner they search for a new owner, of course. Mini-computers as well as weapons. So, I thought, what if they could be rewritten? A few tweaks later from a very well-compensated villain and here I stand."

"It can't work on you. The rings only work – "

"Unfortunately, you're right there. I cannot make hard light constructs without a Green Lantern around me – which, interestingly enough, has never happened, but it makes no matter. I'd rather deal with these using the talents I earned. It's enough to weaken you, enough for me to end your lives." He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Arkillo. "Come, let me lead you to your dead leader. He screamed in the end. Will you?"

Arkillo's eyes bulged with fury as he screamed and threw his hands forward; a large bear trap, glowing yellow, appeared around Deathstroke's feet; but it was delayed – in his haste he wanted to cause pain, and failed. Deathstroke dove out of the trap and somersaulted over Arkillo, drawing his handguns and firing them into his back. Usually bullets would not stagger a Lantern, but his powers were diminished in the presence of such blue hope, and they tore through suit and flesh. A sword and shield appeared in the other alien's hands as he rushed forward to face Slade.

Deathstroke drew his own sword and collided with him, blades clashing. With every strike the blade and shield dimmed and dimmed – too close to the blue. "Don't tell me you're _tired_," Deathstroke said as he knocked the shield away from him with a kick.

Arkillo spawned a giant ten-tonne weight above Slade's head and two spiked walls by his side. _Thanks for the help_, he thought, slipping his foot behind his opponents and dragged him back, knocking him to the floor. Just as the weight closed in on him Slade stepped away and watched the show. The weight came crashing down on his opponent, breaking his bones, crushing his flesh into a paste. "AMPA!" Arkillo cried as the light constructs disintegrated.

"Thanks for saving me the trouble," he said, leaning down to pick up something from the mess. He raised the ring into the light of a nearby street lamp and smirked; Ampa's cracked and sparkling power ring. "Thirty-one," he sighed, placing it in his belt pouch quickly.

"Put the blue ring away and face me honourably, you coward."

Deathstroke smiled. "After you, sunshine."

Arkillo's bangle-sized power ring began to glow furiously. A large glass window appeared before him and shattered, the shards projected towards Slade. He quickly took a grenade from his belt and threw it at a nearby wall. Brick burst in all directions as they device exploded on impact. Slade disappeared into the gaping hole.

Arkollo barged through the wall in a shower of mortar, screaming for him to come back. The collapsed walls and ceiling of the building's ground floor allowed dribbles of water into the room. Below him the wood creaked under his weight. By the time the dust cleared Slade was gone.

"What's wrong?" he bellowed. "_Afraid_?"

"No." His voice bounced off the walls. "I just love spending time with you."

With no stealth Arkillo stomped across the rom, shining a bright light from his ring into every corner. Well – almost every corner (he was on the wrong side of the room). "Scan for the presence of blue power ring."

"Blue energy presence is too strong, cannot lock onto target," the ring replied. _A woman's voice_, Deathstroke thought. _Naughty. _

"This isn't my first rodeo, brute."

Desperate to the end the conflict Arkillo punched through the wall and grasped for him, but there was nothing except air. Over and over he slammed his hand well into the wall, searching for Slade by touch. It took little time at all for his hand to stray into the sensors of a well-placed proximity mine. Dust and blood set loose from the blastf; the alien's arm came off at the shoulder. He tumbled through the air, his yellow lantern suit disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving only his regular suit; black and thin.

Arkillo's cry of agony shook the building to its core; he lay in the pouring rain, shrieking, blood pooling around him, suspended in the rain.

Slade stepped out of the shadows, a fractured and badly broken ring in his hand. "And baby makes thirty-two."

"You can collect all you want, human, you will never kill us all."

"Nor do I want to. Only the ones that come for me."

"You are not immortal."

Deathstroke took the semi-automatic pistols from his belt and squeezed the triggers; Arkillo's kneecaps burst as he tried to struggle to his feet. He removed a cylinder from his belt and poured the liquid contents of Arkillo's body. The thick odour of petroleum was stronger even than the rooting wood and dust. He took out a lighter, watching the flame dance for a moment.

"We are all immortal, cupcake – until we die."

A rush of heat rolled past Slade as he walked away from the writhing body on the floor, the screams music to his old ears. He retrieved the suitcase of his money and walked through the cold, pounding rain.

_Thirty two down, two hundred more to go. _

_If they dare. _


	4. A Lie Dipped in Gold

**Author's Note: **So, as you may have guessed, I'm a fan of_ Smallville. _It was a really fun television show and I grew fond of the characters. Although that Clark Kent isn't the one I see, the Lois Lane of that world has pretty much become the go-to version that I see in my head. She's always sarcastic and snarky and it makes for a good Lois, a foil for Clark. So here is the next chapter, from the point of view of Lois Lane. It was different to try and explore her because I'm used to (as of _Divided_) diving into the head of Clark himself. It was fun to try something new. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Be sure to review/follow/favourite!

* * *

**A LIE DIPPED IN GOLD**

* * *

"Clark, are you in there?"

His eyes lost their glazing and flickered about, confused, then settled on her. "I'm here."

"In body, maybe. I don't know where the rest of you is, but I hope it gets here soon."

"Very funny."

Lois peeked around the corner again, eyeing the installation with some heat. A truck slowed to a stop at the security gate as it was searched.

"What's in the truck, Smallville?"

"Lois –"

She flashed him a smile. "Oh, come on. Hurry up before it leaves and we never find out what Luthor is up to. This is _solid investigative journalism_."

Clark narrowed his eyes at Lois for a moment, frowning disapprovingly, but then he moved across Lois and over the corner, squinting his eyes as he did it. Lois had to wait until he was finished examining the van, so she watched him. _To have half of his abilities for a day would make my life so much easier_.

Since the pace of his heroic acts had slowed to one every few days, she'd taken full opportunity to launch Clark into journalist mode. He came in handy, busting the balls of Metropolis' elite white collar criminals. She didn't need x-ray vision to see what made him an asset on the job.

It was his flight and his super-speed; his super-seeing and hearing. Once or twice they even used heat vision. But that wasn't that made the biggest difference. Most of all, it was just having Clark Kent, the man of steel with whom she shared the by-line, at her side.

"Mostly lab equipment." His head came back from the corner and hers went around again.

"Damn it," she said, keeping her voice low. "We have to go in there."

"Lois," he said, looking at her with that half smirk, "we both know that if I _had _seen something in that truck, then we'd still be going in."

A nod, but she doubted he could see her head, the way she was craning her around the corner to look at the guards. They were illuminated by spotlights above, but Lois and Clark were far off, behind a shipping crate, in the dark. "That's true."

"If you want me to get us in there –"

Lois turned back and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I don't need your skills _every time_, Clark. Sometimes I have a plan to get in on my own talent."

"Oh? This I'd like to hear."

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a sigh, Lois began to plan. Before, the intent _was_ just to let Clark speed her into the facility, but she maintained that she was no damsel who needed a dashing man of steel to save her. _Now I just need to figure out how to get into the damn place. _

Once there was a simpler time when Lois could run up tearfully to the guards and they'd invite her in for a blanket. All she had to do was slip away. Those days were gone – now investigative journalist required a different type of breaking and entering; the sort that necessitated plier wire-cutters. Luckily, Lois Lane's purse came second only to Batman's utility belt.

_And even then, it's close._

"Lois, security here is pretty tight, they might be expecting –"

"If you don't cut with the negativity, Clark, you can _expect _my fist in your face."

Clark laughed a little; Lois scowled and rounded the corner. He'd follow her, though not now. _He knows when to keep his distance, at least. _

Lois darted into a space between two shipping containers and looked for anything useful; a few gas canisters, a forklift, wooden crates, some –

_A forklift? _Her eyes fell back on it.

"Clark," she whispered. Behind her she heard a whisper of air and felt her hair part a little. She swirled to see him with her hands on her hips.

"Don't tell me."

"Yeah, yeah, Smallville, mop it up."

"How can I help you this evening, Miss Lane?"

"If I distract them, can you get me in there through the main gates?"

"Sure thing."

"Make yourself invisible."

"I think you're confusing me with someone else."

"You're hilarious, Clark. Just hilarious. Go away. You'll know when to come."

He nodded and sped away. Lois set about her work. Her hand felt deep into her bag, feeling. Inside her purse were myriad strange things. It hadn't been emptied in a long time. _It needs more of an excavation than an emptying_, she thought as her hand felt along the bottom. Her fingers felt the torque before the lockpick, and then she had both. She pulled them out and pushed herself up onto the forklift.

The pick and torque slid into the lock effortlessly and she raked. Forklifts were one of the only vehicles with a key that didn't use electric currents to powering themselves up, and for that Lois was thankful. _Come on, come on… _Just when she was about to lose hope and figured it was broken, it powered up, rumbling underneath her and alive with flashes of orange and red. _Perfect. _

Tentatively she looked out from behind the cargo container into the floodlight-illuminated opening and saw that the guards were moving apart from their posts. There was still one in the guard room, but it was enough for none of them to be minding the security cameras.

"_Smallville_."

It was only when he was setting her down again that she felt his arms wound tightly around her. For a moment she was disoriented, swaying a little, and when her vision stayed she saw the floodlights again – this time, on the other side of the fence.

"Good work."

"Keep your voice down, there's guards..."

"Just because you can hear them doesn't mean – _woaah_." Clark pulled her into the shadows and she heard them too, just around the corner. They were so close. If they walked past and heard them move, or if they simply looked a little closer, they would see their shapes.

" – and then Luthor leaves with that look, you know the one –"

"Yeah I do. The look he gave those four hundred workers before he told 'em to go bugger themselves…"

"… so we're left to deal with Gold _by ourselves_, and I gotta say, the man's an ass…"

The voices trailed off and blurred and then disappeared completely, but the two of them stayed completely still until then. Lois' hair was long and brown, but not dark enough to have been completely concealed. By all accounts, they should have seen them. They were _that _close. _What would we have done then? _

"Gold?" Lois said. "As in, Booster Gold?"

"I'll admit, his activities have been a little sketchy of late." They got out of the cramped space and Lois wiped the dust down from her jeans. The back of Clark's jacket was filthy too, so she wiped that down too.

"He's been saving people. You don't get much sketchier than that."

"When _Booster Gold _saves people, you're right. There's more to it than that. And if he _is _linked to Lex. I noticed that he was being supportive of Booster, but I just figured that he was taking the opportunity to dig at Superman."

"You see, Clark, this is why _I'm _listed first on the by-lines. And don't say it's because L comes before K in the alphabet, because that isn't part of it."

Clark grinned, but it was lost on her. "I'm gonna have to agree with you on that one, Lois. It definitely isn't because L comes before K."

With a shrug she turned away from him and started walking, slowly, around the building, looking for an entrance. The main entrance was behind them, but the blueprints had been impossible to find, so she'd had to make do with satellite images that showed nothing more than what a tour of the outside would.

Together the two of them made their way along the outskirts, keeping back from the fence (it was, according to some of the few scarce details she had obtained, electrified and alarmed). Security patrols went by sometimes and Lois and Clark shrank back, hiding behind barrels and crates, and then moving on.

"Look," Lois said, "a door."

"It's locked. And there's no lock to pick."

Lois looked around for cameras, and then nudged her head in the direction of the door, winking.

"What?"

She did it again.

"Have you ever heard of the _law_, Lois?"

"Yeah, _thou shalt obey thy wife_. Stop being such a boy scout and open the door."

He sighed and narrowed his eyes, using his x-ray vision to see what was inside before he did. She sighed. _That would come in so damn useful._

"I wish I could do that," she said.

"Get yourself bitten by a radioactive radiologist."

From his eyes, thin beams of red burst forward and focussed on the metal at the side. They carved a hole big enough for one of them to fit through at a time – if they crawled, but he left enough to make sure it didn't fall to the floor with a clang. Clark got onto his knees and lifted it off, then threw it away over the fence, into the trees of the surrounding forest.

"Nice work," Lois said, kissed him on the cheek, and then crawled on in ahead of him.

The warehouse was huge and empty. Inside, there were rows of tanks filled with suits – all of them gold and blue. On dozens of desks were wrist-mounted guns; gauntlets for hand blasters and utility belts. There was enough equipment inside the hall to outfit maybe fifty men. _But it isn't for fifty men, _Lois knew. _It's – _

"All for Booster Gold," she said and took a few steps forward. Behind her Clark got to his feet and followed her, always keeping his ears and eyes alert for any sign of guards. "I'm surprised about the lack of security in this place. It isn't like Lex to be careless."

"We had to come sixty miles out of Metropolis to find this place, so I'd hazard a guess at saying I think he probably feels this is a secure facility."

"He could put a station on the moon and we'd still find it."

"We'd probably find it quicker."

Lois remembered seeing Watchtower fall burning out of the sky, the memory rising into her mind, unbidden and unwanted. She had been part of press conference, just one reporter in a sea of two hundred, come to ask the Justice League questions. A screeching had rang out, like the wailing of Black Canary, and everyone turned, looking up…

Her heart had sank when she saw it; her hands had shaken a little. Jimmy Olsen's first instinct was not to raise his camera, it was to lower it. Apart from the screaming of metal being ripped apart violently by the atmosphere, there was no noise at all. The scream, and the rush of air as Superman took flight to battle with the falling structure. And fight he did – he and Martian Manhunter forced it away from the Earth, though there were debris that _did _land, nobody was injured. It still wasn't known what happened to Watchtower, but it had been something that stopped Cyborg reaching out for help, and he'd died because of it.

_Nothing accidental._

Up to one of the tanks, looking at the suit inside.

"Definitely a variation of Booster Gold's suit. His new one is different too, have you noticed?" Lois moved along to the next tank.

"Yeah, I noticed."

Clark was holding one of the wrist-mounts, eyes squinting at it. Lois walked over to his side and looked at some of the other items on the desk; a mask, boots with jets.

"Anything weird inside 'em?"

Clark shook his head. "Nothing."

"Should we take – you know, a souvenir?"

He smiled and looked at her. "I didn't come all this way just for the memories. Take a few pictures."

"Aye-aye, captain."

Back into the bag again, but this time it took her far less time to find the small digital camera. She turned the flash off and took a few pictures of the tanks and the desks. There were no computers to access, no files to read, she noticed whilst she was looking for more things to take photographs of. There were no security cameras either, she figured. Clark would have said.

"What will we take?"

Into Lois' bag they crammed a gauntlet, a glove, a mask and a small rectangular box, gold and slashed with blue. They agreed together to leave and take the items back for analysis from Chloe, her cousin. Clark used his x-ray vision and saw that the rest of the building was largely just storage and guard quarters. _So they live and sleep here_, Lois thought. _Interesting. _She wondered if this would be the last visit to this complex.

"Hold on," Clark said once they were outside again, but Lois was already holding his red jacket as tightly as she possibly could, arms wrapped around him. She looked down and saw that they'd floated off the ground, and then they were away…

Off across the forest and into the stars.

* * *

"Chloe," Lois said, shaking her cousin awake in bed, "Chloe, wake up. We need you."

"What – what is it? Is someone in trouble?" Chloe sat upright, her eyes still closed.

"Well – well, no…"

"Then it can wait until morning, Lois," she said sleepily and lowered herself slowly into bed again.

_Oh, come on. _Lois grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. "Chloe!"

"Oh, fine. Fine." She swung her legs out of bed and slid them into a pair of fluffy slippers. "This better be worth it."

Lois had always preferred Chloe's company to Cyborg's; he'd never responded well to her launching objects towards him, and – if he was sleeping – pouring water over him was something she was never quite willing to risk, despite Clark's assurances that he wouldn't be affected. She missed seeing the Justice League around, seeing stories about them in the news… It was a different world now. Cyborg was no longer an option. In any case, she trusted Chloe. Clark did too.

"Chloe, are those my slippers?" Lois said.

Chloe's eyes widened, flickered down, snapped back up. "No, don't be ridiculous. I bought these. They're mine. What do you take me for?" She rushed out of her bedroom.

With narrowed eyes, Lois followed. Clark was still sitting outside looking at the equipment that was sprawled across Chloe's dining room table.

"Hello, Chloe," he said by way of greeting.

"If this isn't important I will personally kick you out of my home."

"I don't doubt that."

"I'm not kidding." She pulled out her chair and sat down, lifting the glove and inspecting it. "I have the kryptonite to back up my sleepy rage."

"Yeah, yeah, Chloe, we get it, you hate being woken. Now, the gloves."

Chloe saluted. "Yes, General Lane."

"Don't call me that. My dad is the general."

A gust of a laugh from Clark. "Miss Chloe Sullivan, I'll introduce you now to the General Junior."

"Shut it, farm boy."

Chloe lifted her elbow onto the table and rested a head on it, smiling at the pair of them arguing. "I'm just glad to see that your marriage is healthy." She turned back to the glove and turned it with her hands. "Where did you get it?"

"We found it in a private LexCorp lab. There were suits, all of them clearly for Booster Gold," Lois said.

"I can see that… and what makes you think it's any different from all of his suits?"

Clark opened his mouth to speak, but Lois was always quicker and louder. "Well if Luthor is planning something then there has to be something _off _about them, doesn't there?"

"I guess you're right. Leave it with me for now –"

"Woah, slow down there. We're gonna need the down-low on it quicker than _that._"

"Well I'm sorry Lois, but the 4-1-1 on your golden super-glove is gonna have to wait a while. I'm not Brainiac – I can't just plug into things and know what they do. I've got to run tests and stuff. It'll take a few hours at least."

Lois shrugged. "We'll be back in the morning then."

Chloe checked her watch and nodded. "Yeah, it's already morning. Try afternoon."

"Clark, take us home."

Lois marched off to the front door, then listening from around the corner.

"She's a little crazier than usual," Chloe whispered, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. _I'm a journalist. These ears pick up whispers better than normal speech. _

Clark shrugged. "She thinks I'm a cab."

"Well, when you hang up the tights for a while, then she has to keep you occupied somehow."

"I guess you're right – wait, they aren't tights." A pause. "They aren't."

"CLAAAAARK!"

When they were home, she first felt his arms around her when he set her down on the balcony of their apartment. The globe atop the _Daily Planet_ turned on its tilt, rotating slowly. Lois Lane stared at it for a little while, the sun casting shadows across them as it rose behind it. The glittering glass of the LexCorp spire hurt her eyes a little. She didn't trust it, for whatever reason.

"Do you want to go to bed for a few hours, Lois?"

"Sleep? God, no."

"I didn't say anything about sleeping." She could hear the smirk on his face.

She turned away from the _Planet _building and the negative thoughts surrounding the spire to face Clark, the man of steel, _her _man of steel.

Lois put on a terrible English accent. "Dazzle me, darling."

Clark laughed. "Lois, that completely killed the mood. Please, never do that again."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Now that's more like it."


	5. A Hunter's Kicks

**Author's Note: **Hello there! Time to introduce another point of view character. One that I don't see as often, and wasn't involved in the plot of _Divided. _I find the Huntress (in the form of Helena Bertinelli, not Helena Wayne) to be a really interesting character. She's violent and brutal and willing to kill. I'll admit, her character here is somewhat different from the one you might be used to from the comics, but it suits the story more, and that's okay. She was fun to read. This will also revisit the story of Green Arrow, who was a point of view character from the last story. In this one, he might be... later. Far on later. For now, it might be in the best interests of myself to stay out of his head. To qucikly revisit the story of Divided, you might remember in the Battle of Atlantis Oliver's wife, Black Canary/Dinah Lance, died at the hands of Doomsday. Six months later, he's in a dark place. Enjoy.

* * *

**A HUNTER'S KICKS**

She was sure they were still following her.

For now, there was only one man she could think of who could help her, one man who had yet to turn her down and dismiss her as an animal. She'd approached Batman and he'd sent her away; she'd hunted in the dark for Nightwing, but Batman had cut off that channel too, all she had found was Batgirl, and she was no use at this point. Helena needed someone with power and influence, not a ginger reject from police academy.

_Oliver Queen will help me. He knows what it's like to run, to fear. _

Helena skirted down the alley that would lead her up to his apartment. It had taken some time for her to track his whereabouts down, but she'd succeeded. She was, after all, the Huntress. A glance behind her to look for people and then she flipped upwards, catching her hands on the ladders. They began to slide, slowly, out of place until they stopped, supporting her light weight. Helena climbed quickly until she reached the fire escape, and then pulled the ladders back up into place. If she was quick, they wouldn't hear her up here, and if they weren't looking, nor would they see the deep purple of her leather outfit in the dark.

The billionaire playboy nor his Green Arrow alter-ego had been sighted in just over six months. She hadn't been at the battle of Atlantis – one of the few – but she _had_ heard enough to understand the effect that Black Canary's death had on Queen. Death was difficult, and she'd lost her own family young enough, but she couldn't spare time on sympathy for Arrow. She needed Oliver to help _her_, not the other way around. _He's had time to mourn, now he has duties to other members of the Justice League. _

She knew climbing that she was on the wrong side of the apartment complex, but she could cut over the roof or through the building, whichever presented itself first. Up she went, pausing occasionally to listen below. All she heard was the gentle rush of rain on the streets below and the roofs high above.

In truth, the Huntress wasn't a true member of the Justice League. She'd been cast out from the Justice League, held up the press as a dark example of a hero who doesn't quite fit the title – of a hero perhaps more deserving of the title _vigilante_.

_Maybe they're right, _she thought as she continued up the metal stairs. Her hands did not touch the railings. _But better an enforcer die than kill someone else – and they would. They always do. _She killed without remorse, and maybe it did change her into something more volatile and unpredictable, as Batman said, but she left little evidence of her crimes. She may not fight _for _justice, but Helena Bertinelli, at least in her own mind, certainly fought against _injustice. _

There were no windows into the complex's main corridors, so the roof was the only viable option. When the fire exit came to an end, as she knew it eventually had to, she wrapped her fingers around drainpipe and began to climb, then used the tips of windows and loose bricks to boost herself up until she was on the roof. The rain was lashing hard so high with nothing to block it, and in the moon was off in the distance, a bloody red.

_Well that's a good sign_, she thought, a smirk slung on her lips.

She sprinted across the flat plain of the roof, cape fluttering behind her, until she found what she was looking for – the entrance to the vents. She took out her small crossbow and fired bolts at each of the small locks, and found her way in. It was warm as she crawled, as she expected, but the smell was less than pleasant. No matter, the Huntress never objected to getting her hands dirty every now and again. She used her elbows to pull herself along the surfaces. Sometimes she came by vents that looked into people's apartments; it was best to avert her eyes, she reckoned – you couldn't rely on people to be decent when they didn't know anyone was watching.

The Huntress descended a vertical vent, dropping short distances and stopping herself with her hands and feet, until she came to where she had to be. Though it was only two floors down, it still took more time than she would have hoped. _If they know where I'm going, they might beat me there. But how could they know? _

Along she went, until there was a vent cover. As much as she'd love subtlety, there wasn't time – she sat down and kicked it hard a few times, the flat of her heels bending it slightly… until it came off and, with a high and loud clang, hit the floor. Helena let herself fall to the floor lightly, barely making a sound. _Apartment 14_, she thought and looked over the rooms. Each floor had few apartments, despite the immense size of the building – the apartments themselves were huge, she'd glanced over the blueprints before she'd left.

There was nothing surprising about the floor, and when she did reach apartment 14, nothing seemed to be out of order. Unsurprisingly, the door was locked, so she banged hard with her fist.

"Queen! It's Helena. Open up."

No answer, and a trickle of worry went through her. _But the door is locked. No doubt he's sleeping. _She considered breaking down the door, but if _they _didn't know where she'd gone, they'd soon find out when one of the other resident's placed a call to the police. It had been a while since she'd last been in Star City, so if the police were to arrive and find her, there was no way of knowing what kind of reception she'd receive – an outstretched hand, or outstretched handcuffs; she couldn't be expected to remember _all _the places she was a wanted fugitive. Helena moved to the window at the end of the corridor, looking out for anything suspicious before sliding it open and stepping out onto the ledge.

She roped her way around the building, moving agilely from brick to brick, window to window, never staying long enough for eyes to linger on her. Below her, headlights from cars went by, the tops of umbrellas drifted by, not glancing up. Eventually, she found the balcony, flipped onto it and knocked on the window; the curtains were closed and, try as she might, there was no way to see inside. She kicked the door with steel-toed boots a few times, cracking the glass a little.

Movement on the other side; the curtain pulled back and he looked at her through the glass.

His hair was long, straggly and greasy. A thick blonde beard coated his face. He was shirtless, but she wasn't drawn to him the way she had been in the past. His chest was no longer flat, the lines that had once drawn the well-defined boundaries between his abs had given way to a reasonably flat-packed stomach.

Helena shook her head a little, disappointed in how far he'd let himself go. She could empathise, maybe, but not now.

"Let me in."

Hesitation, and then he slid the lock on the balcony door down and walked away. She slid the door open forcefully and moved inside, careful to lock it once she was inside.

"What do you want, Helena?"

"I need your help, Oliver."

He laughed shortly. "I'm busy."

She looked around his apartment; empty bottles littered the room, and what remained of them filled the air. It was stale with alcohol and sweat. In the corner a huge television was on, a muted news channel. She recognised Vicky Vale when she saw her.

"I need you, Oliver. I'm in danger."

"What did you do?" His voice was hoarse, like he needed a drink. Somehow, she felt that the drink had been the cause. He swayed a little as he walked back to his bed and lowered himself onto it. His dark blue jeans were badly stained and a little crusted.

"When did you last change your jeans?"

Oliver met her eyes. "A while ago."

"There are men following me. They're trying to kill me."

"You probably deserved it then, don't you?" His words slurred into one another and it took Helena a few moments to piece together his sentence into something audible.

"No."

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"_Who did you kill?_"

She turned away from him and cast her eyes about the room, over the old stage dishes near the sink; empty pizza boxes. "Temar Falcone."

"Falcone? That's on Batman's ground, speak to him." She said nothing. "Oh, so you already _did_, and the brooding knight gave you a broody cold shoulder. Welcome to the club."

Her heard snapped around to him. "You mean – he hasn't spoken to you?"

"No, of course not. Bruce Wayne is too busy to deal with us minor league heroes. He is a _super_hero." Oliver reached across to the other side of his bed, lifting a bottle of Johnnie Walker's scotch and taking a swig.

"Superman?"

Oliver took another drink, and his eyes found her as he did.

"None of them?"

"You'd be the first to come knocking on my door."

"I know how it feels. To be alone."

"Like hell you do, Helena. You're a cold, violent bitch – not even sure why Batman doesn't like you so much, you're just like him. You're both manipulative bastards."

She lifted an empty bottle and threw it hard; it came into contact with the wall above Oliver's bed and smashed into pieces, loudly. "I lost everything that was close to me, Oliver. Do you think because it wasn't six months ago it was any less valid? Fine. Fuck you. When you see my death and name announced on the news, consider it just another death on your damn head."

She turned away and headed back towards the balcony at a quick pace. _It has to be his idea. If he lets me go, I've lost him. He needs to call me back._ For half a moment she worried that Oliver was beyond these tactics and that she'd made a huge mistake, she was close to turning and begging, and then –

"Wait."

She supressed a smile and paused. Slowly, she turned to face him.

"How much danger are you in?"

"They're on their way here now."

"How many of them?"

"More than I can handle myself."

"Why did Batman turn you away? It's not like him."

She shrugged. "Something about a kid – I watched him for a while. Some woman appeared at his house, and then she and another left sometime later – quickly. I don't know who they were."

"How long do we have?"

Above them there was a pattering, heavier than the thud of raindrops. "Do you know the people in the apartment above?"

Oliver rose to his feet, staggering a little. She drew closer to him. "No," he said. "I don't. Why?"

"They're dead. Falcone's men are in the apartment above us."

Her hand darted to her belt and drew out a device that flickered out, springing apart into a small crossbow.

Oliver swayed some and looked around the room. "I don't have a bow," he muttered. He staggered over to a black staff in the corner of the room and weighed it in his hand.

"Make do," she said. "They're –"

A great smash and men burst through the balcony doors, glass scattered to the window. The door burst open too, synchronised in a small explosion. There were four of them. In one hand, Huntress held her crossbow, in the other a short, sharp dagger.

"Green Arrow," she said, "you take the ones at the door."

As if synchronised the soldiers raised their guns, and the Huntress fell on them with all her fury.

She didn't know what Oliver Queen was doing behind her, only the hunt was on her mind. She fired cross bolts towards the soldiers and the doors and fought with the three who'd crashed in at the windows. She could only hope Oliver was dealing with the others. Behind her, shouts rang out and then stopped, she couldn't turn. They tried to slam their rifles into her temple but she ducked and leaped away from them, slashing up with her blade and making a clean incision through one of the soldier's chins. Another raised his gun towards her but she lashed out with her foot, kicking him squarely in the chest and sending him staggering back far enough to trip and fall out onto the balcony.

She turned on the one guard left and slid her blade through his padded black armour and between his ribs; though only his eyes were visible through the balaclava he wore, she could see the widening shock in them as he sank to the floor. _Finally, a little less injustice in the world._

When Helena turned around she saw Queen struggling with the two men at the door. They were fighting against him together and with every punch he took he stumbled back, out of practice. She twirled her dagger between her fingers for a moment and launched it out towards one of them. Dead on target, it took him down, splitting his head open. Oliver's staff took the next one down, a foot wrestling his balance from the mobster and making him topple over; Oliver pressed his staff hard against the man's throat, though not as hard as Helena would have. _Seems he still has some restraint. _

"Make an end," Huntress said, moving towards Oliver.

"I can't."

"He knows who you are. He will tell people."

The man's eyes were full of malice, there was nothing for Oliver to pity there – those were the eyes of a man who would snitch to Falcone the first moment he could. They made Huntress angry – she knew the type of person he was. He was the type of person who killed her parents, her brother.

"He might not."

"How many people have you killed?" Huntress asked, standing over Oliver and the mobster.

The mobster looked up and Huntress and smiled. He struggled to speak, but through splutters the words were forced out. "As many as you, bitch."

Huntress looked around and found what she was looking for. She walked across the room and picked it up, inspecting it, and then held it out to Oliver.

"It'll be quick," she reassured him. "No less than what Dinah had, Oliver. This one deserves it. This one and every other like him."

"It's taking a _life_."

"It's taking the ability away from him to take _other _lives."

In the green of Oliver's eyes there was a long, resistant hesitation. His hands may be shivering, his body coated in a drunken vodka sweat, but his morals were still there, lurking behind that thick, ugly beard. For Huntress to trust – not just _trust_, but rely on _deeply _– there had to be more than an alliance between the two of them; they had to share something. Helena had to push him to kill. For Helena to trust him, and vice-versa – they had to share an unwavering code. He had to kill.

With one hand he took the gun, the other shaking as it held the staff down. He pointed it at the man's head and held it against his temple…

"Come on, Oliver. We don't have all day."

"I don't want to."

" – it's just like firing an arrow –"

"Except it's a bullet in their head."

"And one bullet less in a civilian's. Do you value them that much?"

"If we phone the police –"

"Then this mobster will just rat you out. The Star City police. Do you trust them? Sure. Maybe they aren't as bad as Gotham's, but… to catch you. Oh, they'd give an arm for it, Oliver. They loved lifting us up, the heroes, but have you seen the news? They slam Superman, blame him. Suddenly he isn't an icon of truth, justice and the American way – now they see him for what he is. An _alien. _They'll see you as spoiled brat. Do you know what they'll say about Black Canary?" She paused, some time to think over it. His eyes were so red, so weary. "They'll say she died because of you. They'll say that she was in over her head, she was just another damsel. They'll lie and they'll lie, spinning every story, weaving truths a far cry away from realities. And all this… because you won't let a thug stop killing."

Wet cheeks, tears disappearing into his beard. The hand with the gun was shaking and his lips were quivering. Inside him she could feel the heat from the war his morality was waging on itself.

And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

One by one they wrapped up the bodies in silence. One by one, they covered their tracks.

The Huntress was not accustomed to hiding the results of her activities; criminal death was a result of her activities, but it wasn't the sole aim. Tonight, however, she knew it had to happen, and she was glad it did. They wrapped the bodies in plastic wrap that she'd procured from Oliver's mostly full store cupboard, encircling the bodies enough times for the thickness to prevent blood leaking out. That would become problematic. There was blood on the floor, but no one would enter his apartment unless they prompted to, but if the reek of death seeped under the door… well, that was a different matter entirely.

From the corner of the room the flicker of the television kept catching Helena's attention and she looked for the remote to turn it off. When she couldn't find it, she moved up to turn it off. There was something playing – a feature on the news – about Booster Gold. Huntress had never liked him, more a model than a true hero. But it seemed, for the first time in five years, Booster Gold had did something worthy of note. He'd saved someone's life from a fire in Metropolis – in fact, more than one.

When he had first cropped up, his knowledge from the future had aided him in solving disasters he knew would occur, and when the media revealed that he was actively trying to glorify his own exploits instead of helping to prevent the disasters he knew would occur, the press promptly tore him down. Now, it seemed, he was their new Superman – a new vestige of hope. The news noted that Superman was nowhere to be seen during the fire. A few public figures – Perry White, the Mayor of Metropolis and Lex Luthor – all had something to say. Luthor held Booster up as a shining example of what humanity can accomplish. He said nothing of Superman, but the Kryptonian was there… between his words, in the green of his eyes. Huntress could see it.

She turned the television off and turned around. Queen was wrapping another body up, securing the edges. His face was expressionless and his hands worked at the job. Helena had taken something from him. _Something he had to lose. _

"Do you always have to clean up the bodies?" he asked.

Helena watched him curiously. "No. Usually, there's enough evidence for self-defence."

"If you're attacking them, it isn't self-defence."

"Maybe not. Self-defence on behalf of another. People of the future. It's… it's never easy."

In truth, it was easy. She had little qualms killing them – it was either kill or be killed, and Helena knew that Oliver understood that. He'd killed before – he fired _arrows _into people. What had changed inside wasn't the way he saw killing; it was that now Oliver Queen had killed when there was another choice. He could have left the mobster go.

_But I wouldn't have let him, if he'd let the mobster up then I'd have killed him. _She wouldn't risk Oliver's identity being exposed – that would ruin him and possibly expose her. For a while, she had to lay low.

It took some time, but they finished cleaning. The blood that had dropped out onto the floor they wiped clean with strong bleaches – nothing that would stop it being discovered by the police, but there was no need to involve them.

"We have to move the bodies."

"Move them?" His eyes were wide, shocked. "Where?"

"Did you think we were wrapping them up for the convenience of the Star City police department? We're moving them to where there's already evidence of their crimes."

"You don't think it'll be suspicious that the men who killed the people in the apartment above are dead beside him?"

"No," she said simply, shaking her head. "I don't think it will be. They will just figure that the residents were killed so their apartments could be used as dumps for bodies."

He shook his head. "We can't just – just carry them upstairs in the elevator. If someone comes out…"

"Go set off the fire alarm outside. Go."

There was a brief moment where it looked to Helena that Queen was going to resist, but slowly he rose to his feet and the left the room, peering out first. Within ten seconds the building was alive with the writhing sound of sirens and he was back in the room.

"We wait five minutes, and then as quick as possible."

And so it was. At first they waited until they were sure everyone was out of the building, and then took the elevators. _Nobody takes the elevators in a fire_. In two short trips they had every corpse in the above apartment. When they were finished Oliver was actively trying to avoid looking at the bodies of the former owners. Huntress didn't care much, they didn't bother her. She moved up the sofa and took out a match. A light toss and a blanket began to smoulder. Soon the fire would be much larger.

"And now it looks like they're trying to remove the evidence. Do you have any Arrow-related merchandise in your apartment downstairs?"

"No. It's at the Arrow Cave."

"Okay, then – wait, the _Arrow Cave_?"

"Yes."

"That is the dumbest name I've ever heard."

"Hey –"

"I mean, Batman has the Batcave but that makes sense. Bats live in caves."

He shrugged his head and left the room, Huntress following. She spared one last look to the room, the sofa completely ablaze. The Huntress had always liked fire.

They made their way to the roof of the building, and jumped the gap to the next. And the next.

_I'll have Green Arrow back in no time at all, _she thought.

_But a change of morals is in order. _


	6. A Sport for Old Men

**Author's Note: **It's already long enough, I wouldn't want to expand this chapter further with an author's note. What I do want to mention is that I have a _new story_ up. It's a Harry Potter tale, a gritter one - _A Song of Ice and Fire _meets Harry. Check it out! Anyway, don't forget to review._  
_

* * *

**A SPORT **_for_** OLD MEN**

* * *

"Well, well," said a voice from the other end of the line. "Slade Wilson contacting me personally. I thought you had inferiors to deal with that sort of thing."

"I'm making a grand return to the criminal underworld, Calculator," Slade said tiredly as he walked across the roof of the run-down apartment complex he was staying in. "It's time I got back to dealing with things personally."

"Is that what you call the – uh, what will I call it – _incident_ at Black Mask's club? Decapitation is one hell of an opening gambit."

"I need Penguin's location, Calculator."

"I see exile hasn't improved your mood." Calculator sighed.

"You aren't helping it either."

"Fine. Be that way. Send the money my way."

Slade opened his PDA and punched in the buttons. He hated computers. _Transfer completed_, announced an automated voice.

"Got it," Calculator confirmed. "Now listen up, class is about to start," he said, his voice perking up. "Recently Penguin and Black Mask have been having issues in their co-operative relationship."

Slade stopped beside an abandoned pigeon coop, looking at it. "Tell me more."

"Once upon a time our crime bosses worked together: Penguin supplied weapons to Mask while he, in turn, supplied the muscle. But Joker's play six months ago changed things again, as the clown prince of chaos likes to do for us. Crime families were removed; the Marones are a spent force, Mad Hatter's paltry crew is gone and Scarecrow's straw pals are extinguished. Now the bird closes in around the mask's neck, and the mask grows desperate."

"Sounds bad."

"Not really. The fuse hasn't been lit on the dynamite yet, but they're stockpiling the stuff by the tonne, so when it does… a lot of people are going to end up dead."

"I don't care," Slade replied bluntly.

"Of course you don't. You'll find Penguin in the Iceberg Lounge. He and his gangbangers have been camping out at the place for… let me check my fiiiiiles… two months now. Wow. That's a long time to be in a restaurant. Anyway, the place is less of a lounge now – it's a fortress. You aren't going to get in with your armour and weapons."

Slade caught himself stroking the blue lantern ring around his neck. _I'm too attached to this thing. _"Anything else?" Slade asked.

"Yeah, just one other thing… those two Sinestro Corps members have just been found. What does that bring your total to now? Twenty eight? Twenty nine?"

"Thirty two," Slade said with a hint of a smile.

"Nice. Anyway, with those two found you know Batman won't be too far behind. I have reports that say Batgirl is investigating the deaths as we speak, and when he hears you've returned, the dark knight will come out of the shadows to find you."

"Perfect," Slade growled.

"That's about the measure of what I have for you."

"Good."

"Thanks for the cash," he replied, and hung up.

With a chuckle Deathstroke walked across the rooftop. The Gotham skyscrapers could be seen in the distance, separated from the slums by the Gotham River. The only thing connecting the bodies of land was the shining Gotham Bridge. _Calculator is right, _Deathstroke thought ruefully. _To get to Penguin, Deathstroke will have to take the night off and let Slade Wilson take over. _

* * *

The fake eye was incredibly uncomfortable, but it'd be worth it – in time.

A long line of people trailed off into the distance, way past the point of illumination from the blue neon sign mounted above the doors. Tonight, his weapons were sealed away; Deathstroke was gone – tonight, he was just another old man out to drink his woes away_. _

"Come on!" a man pleaded to the bouncer. "My business associate is inside! He's expecting me!"

"If you were expected inside, you'd already be inside," the man replied tiredly, shoving him away from the door and inspecting the next would be patron of the lounge.

The rain was coming down again, soaking all of those unfortunate enough to not be underneath the awning over the Lounge's entrance. Unfortunately, that included Slade_. _Instead of complaining, he simply closed his long black jacket and lowered his head. Eventually Slade made it to the front of the line after the scruffs and the penniless had been sent away. "You got an invitation?" the bouncer asked.

"Yes," he said and held out a wad of cash - $500. "It got a little discoloured in the rain. It almost looks green."

The bouncer looked Slade up and down, getting the measure of him. _Just an old man. _"Welcome to the Iceberg Lounge."

Inside the entrance hall of the Penguin's lair were two sweeping staircases that led to the upper floors. Between them, a great bone dinosaur with its jaws wide apart. "May I take your coat?" the man in charge of the cloak room asked, extending out his hands towards Slade.

"I'll hold onto it."

Admittedly Slade still looked out of place without his armour; everyone man there was in fancy suits and every woman in a flattering cocktail dress. All of them looked at Slade as though he were filthy. He jogged up the stone steps, eager to be out of sight.

Upstairs, more of the degenerate upper classes crowded around, seemingly following him everywhere. They crowded around the crystal glass tables and the glass-topped bar. Penguin, Deathstroke was displeased but not surprised to see, was not among them.

_His caution is warranted._ A set of stairs at the side of the room was guarded by black shirted bouncers with earpieces. _They'll frisk me if I try get past him, and they'll take my meagre little sidearm. _Up high was a balcony with empty seats. _The Penguin's own personal perch. _"I need a drink," he sighed, making his way to the bar.

Slade worked his way to the bar where he ordered a Scotch, and then another. Hours seemed to pass and Deathstroke grew tired and bored, but he swallowed each drink down, paying for them as they came. There was no issue for money, despite the fact that the drinks were more expensive here than they would be in the deserted plains of Africa. " – and by the way, have you seen the guy in black downstairs?"

Beyond the door behind the bar, two guards spoke in hushed tones. _Sound's interesting. _"Yeah, I caught a glimpse of him. Who is he?"

"Dunno. Franklin says he's some kind of assassin."

"Bullshit!"

"No man, I'm serious! He came here looking for information on some guy and Penguin just ordered him locked up! Took thirty guys to take him down! He's still freaking out about Mask putting a price on his head."

"Did Mask send him? I mean, the assassin?"

"I don't think so. But I'm hardly gonna go tell that to the boss, am I?"

"Fair enough."

_An assassin, _Slade thought, _Mask never said he sent an assassin before me. Maybe he did. Or that guy down there isn't after Penguin's head. Could be worth a look, when Cobblepot isn't among the living. _

"Hey, you," a gruff voice said from over Slade's shoulder.

With an evident sway Slade turned to face the speaker, almost falling off his seat as he did. "Whatyouwant?" Slade slurred.

Practically looming over him was two burly guards with tattooed arms and faces, each with angry glints in their eyes. "The Penguin wants a word with you."

"Really? WHY?" Slade asked, his voice drunkenly raising at the end.

"Just come with us," one of the men ordered, "Now."

"Fine!" Slade growled as he snatched up his scotch glass, "But I'm taking my drink!"

Tired of his antics they pulled him away from the bar and dragged him across the room by the arms. "Is this how you treat your guests? Disgraceful!" Slade growled, drawing attention from a lot of the guests. "Show me some common decency! I'm a veteran, you know!"

Stopping at the set of stairs to the VIP area another guard searched him for weapons. "This guy's clean," he told them after his search was completed.

"Did you take my wallet?" Slade demanded to know.

"Penguin is gonna tear this guy apart," he laughed as he let them pass.

He was dragged up two flights of red carpeted stairs, Slade's feet thumping off the steps as he went. Just as he reached the top of the stairs a powerful stench almost overwhelmed him. _Smells like something died up here. _Along the corridor and to the left was a curtained off area; on the right a dark metal door. Of course, the guards to him to the right. "Isn't Penguin through there?" Slade asked, trying to point to the curtains.

Neither one of the guards dignified him with a reply. "Chatty bunch you are," he grumbled.

One of the men shouldered the door open, the other threw Slade inside. Despite his instinctual urge to roll, he allowed himself to hit the floor. _Got to keep up appearances. _Sliding across the floor he smacked into a steel chair which fell with him. "Ah!" Slade cried, "Fuck! What the hell!?"

"Shut up old man," one of them snapped, planting a well-placed kick to Slade's stomach.

They lifted him by the grey hair on his head and pushed him onto the chair they lifted up. A bright beam of light shone down on him from the ceiling. "What the – where –?"

"Hello, Mr Wilson," a voice with a thick cockney accent called out from an electronic speaker of some kind. "Or, do you prefer Deathstroke? I'm not sure who I'm talking to right now."

_Cobblepot. Too scared to poke me with a stick in person? I would be too. _"Two-Face? Is that you?" Slade asked, squinting around the room.

"God, how much has he had to drink?" Penguin asked someone. "Really? I'm surprised he's still conscious."

"What do you want bird-boy?" Slade sighed.

"Nothing at all Mr Wilson, just the privilege to live a little longer is all."

"Is this why I'm in here? I'm flattered but this is my night off."

"Don't lie to me you fucked up old geezer! I know Mask sent you in here to kill me!"

"What? Ppsshhhh! Ha! No!" Slade laughed as he almost tumbled off his chair.

For a moment Penguin was silent. A very long moment, where Slade lay on the floor and did nothing. And then, at least, "Rough him up guys. Then lock him up with the other old bastard. Maybe they can form a league together."

"With pleasure, sir," the guard said with a smile as he stepped forward, throwing a punch aimed right at Slade's jaw.

Slade grabbed the man's fist and twisted it backwards, the audible snap of a bone clean in the air. Before he could scream Slade delivered a swift uppercut, cracking his jaw and sending him reeling. The other guard cursed and fumbled for the gun holstered on his hip. It was too late – Slade was on him, striking him across the face with his elbow. The man braced himself against a nearby wall and Slade grabbed him by his thick dark hair and drove his face repeatedly into it, bursting his nose and sending teeth flying. Over the nose of crunching bones the sound of a weapon priming caught his attention. _An automatic weapon_. In one fluid motion Slade pulled the gun from the man's holster and spanned him around to block the volley of bullets that speed towards him. Five bullets from an automatic weapon tore into his human shield before Slade shot the attacker in the head. Grey matter across the wall and floor; the man's body slumped. Slade's shield on the other hand was still alive, wailing in agony, the bullets failing to hit any major arteries. Without a word Slade reached up and with one hand crushed the man's windpipe, dropping him to the floor.

"And here was me hoping we could get you when you were slow and drunk."

"Regenerative ability," Slade sighed. "Makes it real hard to get drunk."

"We that doesn't matter now, does it?" Penguin laughed. "That door is locked up tight and no one in that room has the key!"

Slade picked up the automatic weapon off the floor and stuffed it inside his coat along with the other hand gun. _I knew I brought you for a good reason, _Slade thought as he reached up and removed his glass eye. "What – what are you doing?"

Slade twisted the glass eye, causing the pupil to light up red. "Going along with the plan," Slade said as he threw it at the door.

On impact the eye erupted in a ball of fire, blowing the door clean off its hinges and sending it flying into the corridor. As the dust began to settle Slade retrieved the eye patch from his coat pocket and put it on. _Semtix-filled glass eyes are the most uncomfortable damn things, but to hell if they don't get the job done. _

"'The fuck was that?" a voice demanded to know from downstairs. The sound of feet thumping about.

Without even looking Slade drew the borrowed automatic weapon and aimed down the stairs, squeezing the trigger. All five of the guards who were rushing up the stairs were cut down, blood spraying across the wall and their pregnant screams died stillborn. Down the stairs the sound of panicked cries followed the gunfire. _Good, less collateral. _Slade dropped the automatic weapon to the floor as he dove through the curtains. Bullets whizzed past him as rolled across the floor, drawing his hand gun as he got back to his feet.

With two more shots the two guards on the other side of the room collapsed, bullet holes between their eyes. Sat in a booth near an open balcony was the crime boss they called the Penguin, all two hundred and thirty deformed pounds of him. Cobblepot's eyes were mismatched, one green and the other brown; his nose hooked, his teeth lacking. As always he was in his fine tailored suit and black top hat, a monocle over his left eye. Slade crinkled his nose at the stench inside the room. _Still smells like death in here._

"Well, hello Slade," Penguin said with a smile. "Nice to finally meet you."

"The feeling is mutual," Slade replied bluntly.

"So go on then, how much is Mask paying you?" Penguin asked. "I'll double it – quadruple it, even – for you to walk away from this right now."

"I've been a killer for a long time, Cobblepot. Money means little to me. A means to an end."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," Cobblepot said disappointedly before shouting. "Wakie, wakie!"

A massive grey hand burst out of the wall behind Slade and grabbed him by the shoulder. "What the fuck?" Slade called out as another hand grasped him by the other.

Out of the wall lumbered a massive rotting corpse, yellow teeth and eyes, thin hair grey as its skin. Across its broad chest was a torn purple short, and matching trousers draped over its massive thighs. Chains of heavy, rusted iron were wrapped around its neck and limbs; rusted knives and cleavers protruded from its neck. "Me Solomon Grundy! You die!"

In the corner of the room Penguin cackled with glee. "I love this thing!" he said with a glint of satisfaction in his piggy little eyes, "It doesn't ask for much; it doesn't eat, sleep, think… the perfect body guard!... once you get past the smell." He cackled.

"Grundy no stink!" Solomon Grundy denied vehemently.

Penguin rolled his eyes from his perch. "Just kill him, Grundy."

Slade fired his pistol into Grundy's chest, aiming for his heart, yet he may as well have thrown pebbles as the bullets barely passed through the skin. "Pirate man no hurt Grundy!" Solomon shouted as he scooped up Slade and threw him across the room.

As Slade hit the wall he felt it shudder and crack behind him. _The halfwit packs a punch. _With chains clinking Grundy charged towards Slade, throwing one of his massive feet out in front of him. Slade was only just able to move out of the way as Grundy's foot smashed through the wall up to his knee. Trying very hard to keep his cool Slade looked for his hand gun which he'd lost mid-flight when he caught sight of Penguin waddling out the door on his stunted legs, cackling as he went. _I need to get that little son of a bitch._

Just then Grundy ripped his leg out of the wall – bringing down most of it as he did – and staggered back to block Slade's path to the door. "Little man stay and fight!" Grundy ordered.

"Then why don't you come and get me?!" Slade asked as he rushed towards the nearby balcony.

Solomon Grundy stomped after Slade, roaring with anger as he did. With only a few feet separating him from Grundy's large decomposing hands Slade leaped onto the banister of the balcony and pushed back into a somersault. As expected the zombie's couldn't stop himself as he crashed through the barrier and began to fall. But just as Slade believed himself clear, hulking meaty fingers clammed around his ankle.

Jerked from the air he was pulled down into an uncontrolled free fall down into the lounges main room with Grundy in tow. Grundy hit the ground first, the impact causing the floor to give way beneath him and sending them both down into the underground of the Lounge's sublevels. Again Grundy hit the floor first, causing him to relinquish his grip on Slade.

Though he tried to correct his posture, Slade hit the wet stone floor hard, landing on his right shoulder. A loud pop from his arm as it was pulled out of its socket; he gave a quiet yelp. _That has to be the twelfth time I've dislocated this shoulder. _Getting to his knees he then slammed his shoulder into the floor, forcing it back into its socket. _Ow._

Along with the rumbling noise that was Grundy trying to shake off a concussion Slade heard something else; pain screaming. Laying a few feet away from Grundy's massive form was Penguin, his little legs twisted and broken, the light grey of bone sticking out of his shins. _Poor bastard must have been right underneath us when we fell from the balcony. At least he can't run any more. "_You there!" a voice called out from the dark.

Sitting against a wall with chains around his arms was a beaten and bloody man, his short black hair and goatee flecked with grey. _The assassin the guards mentioned. I recognise that armour…_

"Are you just going to sit there?" the man demanded to know, "Or are you going to get these damn chains off me?"

It was clear to Slade that Grundy would be back on his feet soon and he didn't have so much as a switchblade to defend himself. _If I'm going to beat this un-dead fuck, I'll need help. _With what energy he had left Slade rushed over to the captive assassin, picking up a brick from the rubble on his way to him. Hardly thinking Slade smashed the brick against the rusted hoop that held that chains to the wall until his palm ached and blood leaked from his fingers. Just as the brick fractured into two pieces the hoop snapped and the chains came free. "Over there!" the man said, pointing to a faint outline of a box in the darkness. "My equipment is in there!"

He threw open the box and looked inside; a gun, bow, arrows and a machete. Deathstroke took the blade and told the man to hold up his chains. In one strike the machete cut clean through the old metal. "Thank you," the man said, lifting out his bow and quiver-full of arrows.

"No problem," Slade replied, lifting a handgun out of the box as well. "Now let's kill a zombie."

Grundy staggered almost drunkenly to his feet, peering into the dark to find Slade and the other assassin. _Good_, w_e have time to plan. _"How do you want to handle this?" he asked the black armoured assassin.

"From what I know about this Solomon Grundy he's got the intelligence of child," the assassin said, "a fear of fire, and can't be permanently killed."

"Those last two get my attention," Slade replied. "I say we find a way to light this guy up and hope it kills him."

"And if that doesn't work."

"Improvise."

"Fine. There are some boxes of whisky over there to his right. Lead him in there."

"Do not miss."

"I don't."

"Where Pirate man go!?" Grundy demanded to know as he fumbled around looking for Slade.

Deathstroke leapt into the air and swiped at Grundy's face with his machete.

Green blood sprayed across the room as the metal cut into the skin just above his cold grey eyes. Caught completely off guard by this sudden attack Grundy lurched backwards as Slade fired some rounds into his broad, knife riddled back. To add to him already impressive array of injuries the assassin fired a handful of black arrows into Grundy's chest causing him to grunt in pain.

"You will hurt for this!" Grundy promised.

Up ahead were wooden boxes filled with bottles of alcohol stacked haphazardly around the room. _Jesus, there must be enough alcohol down here to get even me drunk. _Slade wove his way through stacks of boxes and Grundy blundered through them, crushing them under his feet and splashing alcohol all over himself. Slade was even able to successfully throw a few bottles at Grundy as he ran.

"Fire!"

Without even waiting for him to get clear the assassin fired a single flaming arrow towards Grundy as he stared at it with mounting horror. Just as the arrow found its mark in Grundy's chest Slade dove out of the mound of boxes and pooling puddle of alcohol. A resounding whoosh broke the short silence and the sudden light from the ignited alcohol expelled all shadows.

Grundy screamed in agony, beating at the fire with his massive fists and muttering unintelligibly. Then, at once, he collapsed.

"Not bad work, mercenary," the assassin said approvingly as he approached Slade. "You handled yourself well."

"And you, for what little you did."

"I did enough."

Deathstroke looked past him and saw Penguin, trying to drag his crippled and bloodied body from the room. "Excuse me for a moment." Slade walked over to the mobster and stood over him. "If you had simply let me shoot you in the head, this wouldn't be an issue."

"Please!" Cobblepot begged. "I'll pay you whatever you want! Just let me go! Please!"

"I told you," Slade said as he knelt down and wrapped and arm around his neck, "I'm not in it for the money."

There was a sharp snap as Deathstroke tugged on Oswald Cobblepot's neck, his little, ruined legs twitching for a brief moments. He rose and surveyed the damage around him; he'd created enough devastation and drama, just like Mask had asked.

His eyes fell to Penguin's former prisoner.

The archer smiled. "Let's talk."

"After we get out of here," Deathstroke said. "An old friend of mine will be on his way. It'd be best if we weren't here when he comes calling."

They nodded, and left the ruins of the Iceberg Lounge behind them, moving to the rooftops beyond.


	7. A Lesson in Business

**Author's Note: **Welcome back! Little delay, but the story returns to full swing now. A Lex chapter now, to break up all the action that's been going on with Deathstroke's chapters and Clark and Lois. There's nothing better than a little respite. In any case, take a look at my page – I've posted a new fic, this time it's Pokemon. A different vision, set long after the games. Still, I look forward to hearing your opinions. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**A LESSON IN BUSINESS**

* * *

"Mr Luthor, the simple truth is that the unions aren't willing to dance to your beat anymore. None of our beats, for that fact. It's a truth that I don't want to admit as much as you do – but there's nothing we can do. We can negotiate with them, find terms that _they _like and we hate a little less than what is on the table at the moment."

Lex drummed his fingers on the long table. All of the eyes around it were on him, waiting for a response. He looked out the massive windows that spanned the entire outer wall of the conference room, which the table ran parallel to.

"In my experience," Lex began, pulling his chair into the head of the table a little closer, "anyone will dance if you fire bullets at their feet. The construction unions are all talk – we had dealings when they built this very building. The LexCorp spire is on-target – things are proceeding as planned."

A woman leaned forward and looked up the table. "Lex, be reasonable here. We're on schedule, yes, but we're _way_ over budget. _You _are over budget."

Another jumped in. "Moira is right. The unions have us by the balls here as far as contracts go–"

"_As far as contracts go_," Lex repeated. He placed both palms face down on the table. "To what extent do the contracts go?" He looked to Tess, who was sat in the chair on his right. "I remember considering this when we came to it – their contracts cover construction only, no?"

Tess nodded. "Well, yes. We're entering negotiations for the services end of their contract later in the month. The rights to provide electricity and gas and waters for the building."

A nod and a smile from Lex. "Ladies and gentlemen of the board, we have our solution. Their contracts go as far as opening day, and no further. Who is our union representative? Ah, I don't care. What matters is that we go to him, tell him that the organisation is weighing our options, and we've decided it might be in our best interests to open the spire as a not-for-profit building."

Tess licked her lips as she looked at Lex and turned to the board members, some of them clearly oblivious. "Government subsidiaries are responsible for providing services to not-for-profits, effectively meaning –"

"You want to _cut the unions out_ _entirely_?" one of them asked, incredulous. Lex knew this one – he was an insider for the unions, secretly mining information out. Lex didn't care; a mole let him plant information. A mole was predictable. "That would take – too long! Lex. Government approval would be needed, we'd have to take our entire business plan off the table –"

Lex lifted the paper on his desk and waved it before the board of LexCorp. He brought his hands together, and tore through it.

"Done. Give our union rep the news."

"Lex, this is _millions of dollars_, not spare change! We've all invested in this, you can't expect –"

"I do expect, board members." Lex Luthor rose to his feet. "I expect the union rep to do his job –to do what is best for them. And what's best for them, is best for us. That'll be all."

Confusion and irritation plenty, he left the room. _They'll come around, _Lex knew, _when they find out that my methods work. _Not just these methods, though – no. Alternative arrangements would be necessary, of course. The unions of Metropolis were aggressive, enough so that they wouldn't bow to pressure from what they perceived as a white collar thug.

Lex Luthor was not a thug, but he knew of a few. _And thugs have their uses. _

The elevator descended to the bottom floor of the LexCorp building. When the doors slid apart, security guards began to follow Lex as he walked through the lobby.

"Bring up the car," he said off-hand, and behind him one of his guards whispered into their sleeves.

Heads turned as Lex walked past, eyes swung around in his direction. After all this time, visitors still whispered at the sight of the famous billionaire. It didn't fuel his ego much – no doubt they took the same notice of Gotham's Bruce Wayne and Star City's Oliver Queen, both reckless playboys. He frowned on those types of billionaires.

_I made my own fortune, where theirs was inherited… and they squander it. I use my money to create and sustain a safer world because I love my city. They use their money on women and parties._ He pushed through the revolving doors and

Less than ten seconds passed before the car was outside and Lex was inside it. Prompt, as always. He expected as much. If it were any other way, people would lose their jobs. Promptly.

* * *

"Pull over here."

The car quickly swerved into a parking spot by Central Metropolis Park; the driver clearly unsure of what to do. _A new driver_. Usually Lex noticed these things quickly, but there were other matters weighing on his gifted mind, and the car was warm. He made mention of it and the air condition was turned on. _No doubt it's worse outside_. Light and warmth spread through the area unobscured by buildings. The sun was high above them at the hours before and around midday. Lex checked his watch; it was midday now. During the day the park was flooded with people; children flying kites, parents watching them carefully. No normal human would look twice at two men in a park.

Still, Lex wasn't the type to take unnecessary risks.

It was a minute or so before the car door opened and a man slid in. A green flannel coat and a light blue jumper underneath, flecked with brown stains.

"For what I pay you, I would think you could buy better clothes."

The man's bushy eyebrows disappeared into his long, wiry brown fringe. "If you want to talk fashion with me, Mr Luthor, that's gonna cost you extra."

Lex handed a small box to the man. "In your ear."

He took it and opened it. A small skin-coloured earpiece in the centre of the white silk box. Lex almost smiled, wondering who puts their devices in such exquisite cases. The man's fingers reached in and fumbled with the device a little. He slid it into his ear and grimaced. "These things are always so cold. I hate stickin' shit in my ear."

"We'll take that into account next time."

"The plan's the same then?"

Lex made no reply; he only stared at the man.

"Oookay then," he said and exited the vehicle, slamming the door shut.

_Good. _

Lex slid his own earpiece in and listened.

"Good morning Metropolis," the man said, speaking only to Lex. "It looks like it's going to be clear skies. Now entering the park."

The earpiece was one-way, which was a pity. _I would be tempted, sorely, to tell him to shut up. _

"Target located, on the approach." There was a long silence then as he walked across the park; the target was to be sitting on a bench. Out of the limousine's window people were walking by, paying no attention to Lex's car. He was displeased when he discovered he would have to be in range to listen clearly and immediately, but if something went wrong, then response was necessary. When dealing with the criminals of Metropolis, it was best to have contingency plans in place.

The contingency plans were aiming through their scopes from three separate buildings around the park. Lex hoped they would not be necessary.

"Mr Snot," said the man.

"_It's Schott."_ The other voice was higher than Luthor expected it to be, more like that of a child.

"What is?"

"_My name."_

"More like your life, if you ask me."

"_I didn't ask you. Tell me, has anyone ever told you that your clothes and moustache make you look like a porn star?" _Lex had thought the same thing, but he wasn't nearly vulgar enough to say it aloud.

"Heh. Not with my clothes on, no. Tell me, aren't you a little old for what floats your boat?"

"_I couldn't help myself! That's in the past, though. I'm seeing a counsellor now. Taking medication."_

"We both know that's not true, but I don't care. Here."

"_What's this?"_

"The job I asked you here for."

"_I didn't say I would take iiiit." _

"No, but you couldn't help coming to check it out, could you?"

There was a sound that Lex didn't know, perhaps Schott removing the contents of the envelope. _"Ooooh. Does this all check out?"_

"Yes."

"_I'd… need some of it upfront."_

"Of course."

"_And my share?"_

"A generous number… forty percent."

"_Oooooh! I am excited! You'll have to give me a couple of days –"_

"Heh. No. I'll see you when the job is done. The _when _and the _where _is in the file. Goodbye. Have fun, Man Toy."

"_It's Toyman."_

"Bull Schott."

* * *

Lex had the car drive him around Metropolis for a long time, it was nearly dark. _I owe it to Metropolis to keep my feet on the ground_, he thought. _The ground is where I am connected to the city._

_Not the skies. _

People went by, about their lives. Most of them he would never see again; most would never see him, not even once. And to Lex, that was perfectly fine. Everything he did, he was doing for this city, for its people. They would never know he was at the wheel, guiding them away from the oncoming storm. Unbidden, his head moved towards the window and his eyes upwards. _Nothing in the skies but clouds_… _for now. _

A vibration in Lex's pocket. He took out his phone, checked the ID and answered.

"Hello, Tess."

"The union rep isn't bending like you thought."

Lex smiled. "You have no idea what I thought. What's the situation? Be _exact _now, you know how I admire precision."

"The entire deal, he says, is off the table. No to second shifts without overtime, no to any new hires working those shifts, and…" Tess hesitated. "They will stop construction completely if we go not-for-profit."

"So they aren't playing fair."

"They don't _have_ to, Lex. They have a contract."

"So do I, Tess. And not just with him."

* * *

The sun was gone by the time the union rep found his way up to Lex Luthor's office.

He had taken his time. Lex checked his watch; it'd been just over an hour since his presence was requested. There was a difference between fashionably late and trying to make a point; Lex knew when the line was crossed, and resented him for it. But he knew he would come eventually, and when he did – he would wish he hadn't.

The sky was dark, but the city was luminous. Lighted windows flooded out the streets, more or less rendering the street lights ineffective. Lex could only _imagine_ the splendour of the Avenue of Tomorrow on such a clear night. The glimmer filled him with a thick sense of pride. Maybe he would ask the driver to take him by there on his way home. It served well to be unpredictable.

A buzzer. "Mr Luthor, a Frank Johnson is here to see you."

"Send him in, Miss Graves."

Lex sat down at his desk and began to address an envelope. He was still writing – ever so slowly – when Johnson entered the room.

"Luthor."

"Just a moment."

He made the union rep wait whilst he finished writing, then reached into his drawer and produced a small book of stamps. He flipped through them casually for a few moments before selecting one, then carefully cut it out and affixed it to the top-right corner. Lex couldn't be sure that the implication was caught by Johnson, but he hoped that was the case.

"Are you done?"

"I am, yes."

"I wondered how long it would take you to invite me up here." He looked around the room as he walked towards the desk, with that disrespectful swagger. Never would Lex understand why visitors to his own office thought they ruled the place. They were on his home ground, his territory, surrounded by tigers.

"A pity you couldn't have stayed away a little longer." Lex smiled.

"Yeah, well, now I get to deal with you in person, don't I? We can sort this mess out. You're trying to mess up my boys. Taking the spire not-for-profit, what a load of shit, Luthor. That's millions of dollars on the line –"

"Exactly," Lex broke in, already tired of the union rep's sermon. _Maybe it took him so long to get here because he was practicing it in the mirror._ "So it's best to be done _well_."

"Well? _Well?_ You know that it ain't being done _well. _I got half a mind to slap a lawsuit in your face about… _mis_abusing your workers."

Lex laughed at the man's _mis_abusing of the English language. "Tell me, Frank – and the truth now – where do you think the project is failing? As a businessman, how can I help?"

Frank seemed to stagger back a little, taken off guard. He recovered quickly, no doubt thinking it was some play by Luthor, some way for negotiations. There would be no negotiating. "Well – the tools. They're a load of shit, to say it simple. Half of 'em don't work, then you got the problems with the safety equipment. One in two of our workers don't even got a hardhat, for crying out loud. That's on you too. _Your contract _says you gotta shoulder that cost. Not us." He jammed a stubby thumb back towards himself.

"I understand," Lex said, nodding. "Is there anything else?"

He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Nah, I think that's it."

"Good. I want you to see something." Lex reached into his drawer and filed his fingers through the names. "J," he murmured. His eyes saw and his fingers latched and he drew out a large, white envelope. "Here." He offered it out to the union rep, who took it – hesitantly.

The union rep, with all his tact, ripped it open from the top and pulled out the files that were inside. Lex could see the attached paperclip with the photos, stills from video cameras. The file was big – an inch, maybe two inches thick. There was a lot of reading to do, but when Frank Johnson's eyes grew wide, it was clear to Lex that he knew exactly what they were.

"I didn't do this," he said.

"Oh, I don't think so, but the evidence is… mounted against you. I don't know what to think."

"You're going to send me to jail to save yourself a pretty buck?"

"That would be a nice plus, but I don't _want _to send anyone to jail, Frank. What I _want _is for you to do your job. Properly. I will destroy this evidence, cast it into a fire, but I'm going to need something from you. I'll even subsidise, let's say, twenty percent of your costs. I'll even reimburse you for the… _anguish_… this may have caused you."

"Go to hell, Luthor."

"I thought you might say that. I have some bad news… terrible news, in fact. It's your family. They've been hurt. There was an accident – something wrong with your wife's car… don't worry, don't worry. Your daughter hurt her wrist is all, nothing else…" He smiled. "Yet."

"You fucking manipulative – there are _others _who will deal with this, Luthor. This won't be unnoticed, you will –"

Lex reached back into his drawer without looking and pulled out a wad from it. Onto his desk he dropped eight, nine, ten large, brown envelopes, some thicker than others. In the top right corner of every envelope there was a name.

"Have we come to an arrangement, Mr Johnson? Oh, and I've taken care of your daughter's medical expenses. There are _bonuses_ to doing business with me, Frank. I take good care of the people in my employ, and I'd very much like to take good care of you. Your family too. You have a simple choice. You make sure to do what I tell you, and you emerge unscathed and richer than you were before."

"And if I defy you? What then?"

Lex leaned forward in his chair and smiled at the union representative. "I will come down on you with all the force of hell."

* * *

The city was resplendent in the velvet midnight sky. Lighted windows in the distance, cars travelling along their paths in straight lines and great loops. Lex watched and took it all in. _His _city.

_Is it ironic that the city never looks more glorious than why I see it from above… from __his__ angle? Perhaps, but I know what I see. The greatest example of mankind's accomplishments – a city that aims for the sky and builds. A place that lives up to a past whilst defining a bright future. I see the __**greatest city**__ on Earth._

_What do you see, Kal-El? Do you look at us from the sky and smile?_

_Or do you simply __**look down**__?_


	8. The Cowl and the Mask

**Author's Note: **Sorry it's late. Three words: _New Pokemon game. _Things will return to normal now, every three days like clockwork. As for particular notes on this chapter, it's got my own writing and Gavin's writing woven together. I'm sure you can figure out who is who! Enjoy.

* * *

**THE COWL AND THE MASK**

* * *

The door was closed and the windows were locked, and that was the way it was.

He was hiding from his family, from his friends and from his responsibilities. Bruce Wayne had never shied away from his duties as Batman, but as a parent? He wouldn't subject Damian to the brutality that Jason had been forced into, to the coldness he'd offered Dick. As soon as Talia returned, Damian Wayne would leave again.

_Questions would be asked about the sudden appearance of a son that nobody knows existed_. He'd lived the life of the billionaire bachelor, and any changes to that would be noticed by the city. Bruce carefully cultivated the image of the reckless playboy – a character he played well. If he was asked about the mother, the answer would be difficult to concoct.

_Oh, Bruce, a son? Who is the mother? _Bruce thought. _That's what they'd say. And how would I reply? "The mother is the daughter of a criminal emperor and immortal master assassin." _

He stood up from his desk and walked past his bed and over to the window, looked out over the city. The clouds were thick and low over the city of Gotham, even the lights from the high buildings did not break them apart. The symbol was noticeably absent from the sky, with Batgirl dealing with situations as they appeared in Gotham. Behind him, two knocks on the door and a little as it opened and Bruce turned to see Alfred emerging, a tray in hand.

"I took the initiative to prepare you something to eat regardless of whether or not you claimed to be hungry, Master Bruce."

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Alfred."

He closed the door and placed the tray on the table at the foot of Bruce's bed, but he did not leave immediately; Alfred Pennyworth hovered around the room and Bruce knew he had something else to say. He often did.

"Something to say, Alfred?"

"Do I have permission to speak freely, Master Bruce?"

Bruce smiled and came away from the window. "You're going to anyway, Alfred. Why deny the inevitable?"

"It's the boy, sir. It seems that such a long time in the company of the League of Shadows has left an impression on him."

"What kind of impression?"

"He seems to believe that violence is the ultimate resolution to any conflict. Perhaps if you could talk to the boy –"

"I've been occupied. It was wrong of Talia to drop Damian on me with no notice–"

"Would notice have made a difference?" Alfred asked. Bruce said nothing. "Diana has been gone for three days, and Damian here for the same amount of time. You've lost three days already. There's still time to catch up."

Bruce turned back to the window, unwilling to hear Alfred's thoughts – all of them true. He knew that he must see his son, talk to him, get to know him, but how could he? Bruce had no idea how to act around children. He'd hardly even been one himself.

"I'm sure that you will return to brooding one day, sir. However, at the moment, he needs a father."

"I can't be a father to him, Alfred."

Alfred sighed long and hard, staring at the back of Bruce's eyes with a longing, a longing that Bruce knew was for him to be happy and whole. Bruce Wayne would never be either of those things. The place where this thoughts lived, in the wilderness of his mind, was dark… Bruce turned around to see Alfred in the silence. "I'd like to be left alone, Alfred."

"A teacher, a mentor, a partner… but never a father. Of course, Master Bruce. Of course."

As footsteps trailed away and Bruce turned back to the window, he saw the light above the city… balanced on the clouds. "Alfred, why is the Batsymbol raised?"

The butler paused. "I'm not sure, sir. Perhaps I can–"

A person running outside, up the corridor, footsteps thumping heavily. Dick Grayson was at the door, his red costume on instead of his blue.

"What do you want, Dick?" Bruce asked.

"It's Penguin, Bruce. He's dead. Murdered in the Iceberg Lounge." There was a long, heavy pause, and Nightwing's mouth knotted up as though a bad taste festered in his mouth. "Deathstroke."

"I'll go. You stay here."

"Are you sure? I can–"

"I said _stay here_." There was force in his words, and Dick stunted back a little, irritated and off-set.

"Master Bruce, will you be back before morning?"

"Yes," Bruce said, removing his robe and leaving the room, heading towards the Batcave, hoping that Damian would not be there. Nightwing and Alfred followed behind him, matching his pace.

"Good," Alfred continued with a sigh. "I'll prepare your usual breakfast – toast, coffee… bandages."

_Ten minutes later and still no sign of the boys in blue – classic Gotham. _

Deathstroke, armoured once more, and the assassin from the League of Shadows looked onto the wreck of the Iceberg Lounge from a few buildings away, the smoke rising slowly into the sky.

"So. You said something about a job?" Slade asked him.

"Yes," he replied, looking away for a view of Gotham. "As you can see, I'm unfamiliar with the new territory. Gotham isn't my home. I don't know it's type – the dark, criminal underbelly. It's… not easy to navigate."

"That's an understatement."

"If I'm to do my job," he beat on, "I need you to help me seek out those who can tell me what I need to know, and avoid those who would seek to hinder me."

"I'm not a tour guide."

"I'm not overly fond of your tone, Mr Wilson. I'm offering you a contract. If you don't want it, walk away now."

"I never said I wasn't interested," Slade replied. "You know my fee?"

"Money is not an issue. I can pay you in full when the job is done."

"Half _now_."

"Any chance you can break this policy, just once?" The assassin was clearly irritated.

Slade remembered the last time someone tried to hold out on a fee. The thought made a smile break out across his face, not that the assassin could see it. "No."

"Very well. I'll organise something before we set out."

"Now, a little details about the job."

"I'm here to assassinate a dangerous man. A warlord who has come to Gotham City only recently."

"Does the poor bastard have a name?"

The archer was silent for a time, no doubt trying to discern how much to tell Slade and how much to keep close to his chest. In the end, it all came down to a question.

"What do you know of Ra's Al Ghul?"

_What don't I know about that old bastard?_

A long time ago Slade had been approached by a member of the League of Shadows, asked to join their ranks. Of course Slade declined, completely indifferent to the quest to bring balance to the world. Days later, he'd been on a hit in South Africa, and he was jumped by five assassins. It was clear that Ra's al Ghul did not take rejection well.

While the fight was brutal, stretching out into a three day long hunt through the jungles, in the end every assassin fell to his blade. After that he fulfilled my contract and began to compile everything there was to know about the League of Shadows – and that wasn't much_. _

"He's six hundred years old. I ought to find out what anti-ageing cream he uses," Slade said, "Any particular reason you want him dead?"

The assassin was quiet again. His eyes seemed unfocused, his mind elsewhere. "He has a daughter," he began. "Her name is Talia." _That I didn't know. _"She has a child, a child that Ra's never wanted born. It didn't concern her that he disapproved; all she wanted was the child of the man she loved."

"Who's the dad?"

"I don't know, nor do I care. Now instead of silently standing by, Ra's has opined that the boy must die. Talia was warned in advance… She asked that I track her father down and end his life. Again."

"A beautiful story," Slade said tiredly. "I didn't know you assassins could kill your own leader if you don't like their policies on child care. Glad to see their still some honour among leagues."

"I owe Talia al Ghul my life. I intend to do as she asked to repay her." The archer looked Slade dead in the eye with a cold stare.

Slade nodded. "Do you have any leads on his location at all?"

"No. I failed to learn anything from Penguin. I doubt he even knew of Ra's al Ghul's presence in Gotham."

"There are a few people I can get in contact with," Slade assured him. _Maybe I'll call Calculator again. He'd love another reason to take more of my money. _As Slade extended out his hand he asked. "Before we get down to brass taxes here, what can I call you, chuckles?"

He hesitated before shaking Slade's hand. "My name is Merlyn."

_I recognise the name – an archer too. The one that beat Green Arrow in the archery event. Could it be the same man, or a successor who wants the recognition? _

He decided eventually the question was best unasked and walked away from the archer, searching through his PDA for Calculator's number, but even before then, he heard a muffled thud and the distinct sound of a grunt.

Slade turned to see Merlyn hanging upside down from a water tower, bow on the ground beneath him. The sight almost made Slade smile – not just because the sight was comical, but because he knew who had strung him up.

"So you finally found us," Slade said sounding pleased.

A dark shadow leapt down from the water tower, a cape almost invisible in the darkness rippling behind him as he fell. He landed on the roof without a sound, the cape – more of a cloak, Deathstroke thought – falling around him, hiding his boy completely. The cowl he wore covered his face aside from his mouth and chiselled jaw. Though he could see his eyes, in the dark he couldn't make out their colour.

"You aren't that good at hiding, Wilson," Batman replied.

"I've been ducking you for six months, so clearly I'm doing something right."

The two circled one another, Slade twirled his sword between his fingers, almost playful, and Batman just maintained his stare. Slade's mind was racing, formulating a plan just as Batman was no doubt doing too.

It had crossed Slade's minds once or twice that the two of them were alike, with a few key differences. If Batman had simply taken another route, he'd make a fine mercenary. Deathstroke had never been captured by Batman in a fair fight, but only because they never had a fair fight. When it came down to a battle between the two, it was about territory and luck. This time, Slade reckoned his chances of escape were fifty-fifty – only this time, he had back-up_._

"You're going to jail, Slade," Batman vowed, ignoring Slade's quip.

"Just because Sinestro was an alien doesn't make it a hate crime."

_He knows I'm stalling. And the only reason he hasn't made a move is because he's doing the same. If I free Merlyn now then he'll change his strategy and we'll never kill him. But if he gets free without him seeing, he'll be able to take him unawares. Batman will never see it coming. _

"Murder is still murder Slade, no matter the race," Batman growled.

Faintly Slade could see Batman's hand moving to his utility belt. _A Batarang, how charming. _Before Batman could throw it, Slade leapt backwards, jumping clear of the building. As he fell his hand reached out and grasped a washing line that stretched between the buildings. His sword make short work of it and he used it to carry him, swinging him across the gap and straight through the window of a third floor apartment.

A small family of three were sat on a sofa watching TV as Slade burst into their living room. All of them cried in terror as he rolled across the floor and barged out of their front door into the hallway. At a sprint he made a beeline for a tiny window at the end of the corridor. Crashing through it too he rolled in mid-air, landing on the roof of the adjacent two story building. Crouched on the ground, he looked over his shoulder in time to see Batman in pursuit, cape spread wide like a great pair of wings.

Batman offered a brief glance at the old, bound archer in black. "I'll be back for you."

He made chase – running after the master assassin, who darted across other building tops. His grapple line caught the gutter at the other end of the building and his feet lifted from the ground, pulling him up towards the other building and then releasing him; his cape widened and let him glide towards Deathstroke. The mercenary was weaving in and out of buildings; every batarang that Batman threw missed or he slapped away with his sword mid-run. _The old bastard is good, I'll give him that. _There was a reason that Slade Wilson hadn't been incarcerated for any real length of time. _That will change tonight_, he thought as he chased him.

Rain began to beat down lightly on Batman's suit, but it didn't hinder him. Deathstroke's movements were erratic, but the cowl followed his heat signatures; something that even Slade Wilson could not obscure. The tracks went down the sides of buildings and around corners, weaving in and out of public areas.

Batman saw the Gotham police department building in the distance; directly above it the light from the Batsymbol was stark against the dark night. They were headed away from the inner city, and for that he was thankful – Deathstroke would use civilians against Batman if he could. In the distance, a gunshot rang out, but Barbara could deal with that. _I am occupied. _

Up the side of a building, and Deathstroke was just standing there, unmoving. Slowly, Batman's hand went to his belt for a batarang and waited. Ready for anything that Deathstroke could throw at him. To his side there was a vent, big enough for cover if Deathstroke aimed to fire his guns, and Bruce was sure he could get to them on time. If Deathstroke came at him with his sword, his wrist blades would allow blocking.

There was a reason Batman was known as the world's greatest detective; he always had a plan. Slade Wilson was just another criminal.

"I really don't get it Batman," Slade said, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. "I killed Sinestro, a man who has killed for years without remorse. I killed Penguin, a criminal whose gang had killed hundreds over the years. I've killed these bastards, essentially making your job easier and _this _is the thanks I get?"

"Killing them makes you just as much of a criminal as them," Batman replied.

"I do what I do for the challenge; they did it for power. I'm not like them, I'm above them."

"And I'll still bring you to justice."

"I'm sure you'll try," Slade said as he drew his handgun and fired.

Batman dove out of sight, behind an air vent of some kind – just like Slade knew he would. Behind Slade was the Gotham Presidential bridge, covered in bright lights and slowly moving cars trapped in gridlock traffic. _Great place for a stand-off, _Slade thought as he leapt from the building and made his way towards the bridge.

After a quick sprint up the slopping cables of steel that connected the bridge to the shore Slade stumbled to the top of the first tower. Even with his enhanced speed and stamina the sprint through Gotham's slums was still exhausting. The top of the tower was flattened out with no cover, no vantage points. _No shadows for the bat to sink into._ Faintly he heard the sound of wings, followed by silence.

"You have to tell me how you do that appearing act," Slade chuckled as he turned to face Batman.

Sure enough there he was, standing tall with his cape rippling in the high wind. Wordlessly Batman lunged at Slade. With a swift side step Slade evaded him and brought his sword around to cut him down. Batman caught the blade on his wrist guard, swiping out at his face with the elbow of his other arm. The blow sent him reeling, his feet coming dangerously close to the edge of the tower.

Slade dove away from the ledge, slashing his sword as he moved through the air. Batman hadn't been counting on such a reckless move and barely got out of harm's way. It brought a smile to Slade's grim set face as the blade cut through a section of Batman's chest plate, cutting the skin underneath. As he rolled across the floor Slade drew his hand gun again and made to fire at him.

But Batman was quick and kicked it from Slade's grasp, the bullet ripping harmlessly through his cape instead. The gun skittered off the bridge and into the cold back water below. Again Slade struck out, jabbing his Sword towards Batman's chest. The Dark Knight was quick, batting the blow away with his wrist guard. Drawing on his bubbling anger Slade launched an all-out assault on Batman, swinging his sword faster than even his eye could follow. Unable to hide the strained expression on his face as he tried to catch every strike Batman retreated, giving up ground to Slade.

He ducked under a savage punch from Batman before leaping into the air, bring his sword down towards Batman's skull. Just at the last second Batman intercepted the blow again with both arms, catching the blade between the metal fins on his gauntlets. With a simple jerk from his arms Batman shattered the sword, reducing it to the size of a butter knife. Taken by surprise Slade made to stab at him with his broken weapon. Before he knew what was happening Batman had twisted the blade from his grasp and delivered a hard strike with his knee straight to Slade's chin.

"It's over, Slade. I will smash your old skull against a wall and drag your unconscious body into a cell myself."

Deathstroke nodded, and if his mask wasn't on, Bruce was sure he'd see a smirk. He hadn't seen Slade's face for a long time. The last time he had seen him, he was driving a sword through Sinestro… and then he'd escaped. _You haven't escaped this time. _

"_Old skull? _Why, Batman, I didn't think insults were your thing. They are usually mine."

"Prison will soon be your thing."

"I don't think so." Deathstroke looked to his right, and gave a curt nod.

Batman turned too late. The cowl amplified the whirring of the arrow cutting through the air towards him. Much louder was the rushing of the air past him when he twisted and staggered back, falling off the bridge. His hand fumbled for his grapple but it was too late. The water under the bridge slammed against his back hard and he was under.

Above him, the last things he had seen was the twisting sky falling away from him, and the mask staring down. Black, orange and victorious.


	9. A Deck of Jokers

**A DECK **_of_** JOKERS**

* * *

They were setting fire to an old nursery.

Mister J was dancing around an old box, empty except for the flames licking the cardboard black. She was simply watching him enjoy himself from the other side of the room, sitting on a table, one leg folded over the other. She'd dressed herself up for the occasion; alternate black and red tights under knee-high boots, as always, but the rest of her was all new.

He'd let her in on the plan earlier in the day, and then he had taken her shopping. They'd lured a group of Gotham's finest firemen into a run-down merry-go-round in Amusement Mile – where few people went without reason, and even then still hesitant – and slaughtered them all whilst they laughed together. Harley had taken their yellow fireproofs and fashioned them into a tight bodice for her waist; tight enough to push up her breasts, all for his pleasure.

He gave the box and heavy kick and his foot burst right through it – the flames took his leg, wrapping themselves around his purple trousers. Harley screamed and burst into action, cartwheeling forward. The Joker laughed and screamed as he twisted his leg around, flames abound, but her mind wasn't on that – all she could think about was the _pain_ he must have been in. She grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall and sprayed his leg with it; foam gushing out the nozzle in waves. He stopped smiling as she sat down the fire extinguisher. There was a big smile on her face.

He slapped her hard with the back of his hand, grinning as he did it, and – just like that – the big smile was gone.

"You shouldn't have _did _that, Harley!"

"I'm sorry, Mista J. I thought you were in trouble, puddin'."

"Did I sound like I was in trouble? Did my laughter sound _pained_?!" he asked, incredulous.

Harley swung her shoulders slightly, like a little girl in trouble. "I can never tell."

"I like to keep you guessing," he said, giggling as he did it. "Say, Harley, why don't we light up this ol' gal?"

She nodded excitedly and produced, from a pocket she'd made herself inside her bodice, a small tub of gasoline. Her Mister J shook his head and skipped over to the curtains; his skinny white hands reached up for the flower on his lapel; gasoline spat out of it, like acid usually did. It made him so _happy_ that Harley had no choice but to smile – it broke out across her red, red lips.

"I'll do the honours, ohoho!" he said, producing a lighter and setting the curtain aflame. "Let's go, Harley! We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

When he turned, he looked magnificent. His skin whiter than snow, lips redder than fire and blood, and green hair, all against a backdrop of chaos reigning, growing upwards. He danced away from the fire, twirling a cane in one hand. They left the room, the clown henchman following them down the giant staircase. Above, Harley saw black smoke creeping across the ceiling, the thick smell filling her nose. As she skirted down the stairs, she glanced back and saw the flames were coming out of the room, like yellow hands gripping the doorframe to pull itself to freedom…

Almost at the bottom of the stairs, a high crash and broken glass tumbled from the skylight, down into the hall. Great wings, the wings of a Bat, frightened Harley and the guards recoiled as they fell. Batman made his way down the ceiling and landed at the foot of the stairs. One of their henchmen tried to jam a pistol into his face, but he twisted it away from him and broke the man's hand.

Joker screamed with delight, clapping his hands together. "Bats? Is that you? Now it's a party!" His laugh turned low and dark.

Batman spoke with a deep voice, lower than usual. Harley noticed it, so Mister J must have noticed it too. He was close to Batman, he'd told her a million times before. "We're the same," her Mister J had told her. "One bad day," he added, cryptic.

"Joker, it's time for you to pay for your crimes," Batman said.

"Pay for my – _oh_."

Batman pointed the gun he'd taken off the guard and fired it at Joker, directly at his chest.

_NO!_

Harley flipped forward, bringing the gasoline container out of her pocket, and slammed it against Batman's head, then kicked him hard. She reached for a match and flipped it onto him, setting him completely alight. The costume began to melt into his flesh and he screamed, a high girlish scream.

She turned to her Mister J, who was lying back on the stairs, his eyes blinking and closing, his mouth coughing up blood as he tried to laugh. Harley went to his side.

"I'll fix you, puddin'. I'll fix you."

"This is _funny_, H-Harley," he said. There was so much blood, she could only just make out the words he said. "Why aren't you _laughing_?" His eyes closed and she felt for a pulse; it was still there, however faint.

"We gotta get him to a hospital, boys!" she announced to the guards around her. The tears in her eyes had made all the dark eye shadow run down her cheeks, like black permanent tears. The guards around her hesitated at first, drawing.

_You're don't deserve to be that close to my pudin', _she thought when one of their shadows fell across them. She reached up and snapped their neck, pushing him away.

"**NOW!**"

* * *

She carried her lost puddin' over her back out of the nursery. Sometimes he spluttered but his consciousness was lost.

"You're gonna be okay, Mr J," she said tearfully. "I promise." Her head snapped to the guards at her side. "_Get the van ready you morons!_"

They exchanged a few wary glances and ran off, muttering about her being a crazy bitch. Normally she'd have snapped their neck but not now. Not with His life on the line.

They waded through grass grown too tall until they came out onto the road, the sky was dark and gloomy. In the distance she could see the Batsignal over a building. _He'll be so angry with me when he hears I've killed the B-man_, she thought. _But I had to. I had to I had to I had to._

Out onto the main road. The van came screeching around the corner, the guys with their plastic clown masks in the front seats.

"Harley – Haaarley," her puddin' choked out. She felt some blood dribble onto her shoulder and it gave her butterflies.

"You're gonna be okay, Mister J."

"Was that – I'm not sure it was him, Harley. He wouldn't _do_ that to me." He laughed the dark laugh.

"Just close your eyes. We're gonna get you to a hospital. Okay?"

The van slid to a halt, the tires bleeding smoke. The doors parted and she slumped him down onto the purple couch. A loud farting came from it and he laughed. _He's so joyful. _

In she went and the force from the acceleration of the fan made the door slide shut. It was lit by a faint orange light on the inside. Crayon smiles coated the inner wall of the van. It rumbled back and forth. She looked at the bullet-wound; it took the place of one of the buttons on his purple three-piece suit. Harley stroked his face, his eyes were closed.

"You're gonna be o – DRIVE FASTER."

"Harley, you think they're gonna let the boss – you think they're gonna help him?"

"_I LOVE HIM!"_

"Yeah Harley, but they don't love him as much as you – I mean, _we_ – do. They'll call the cops."

"OH? AND WHAT WILL THEY DO? THEY'VE BEEN HUNTIN' MY PUDDIN' FOR YEARS AND THEY AIN'T CAUGHT HIM YET, IT'S ALWAYS THE BAT, AND HE'S DEAD!"

"Okay, okay. Geeze."

They made her feel sick. When he was back to full health, they would punish them _together_, because they all deserved it. No loyalty at all, and it sickened Harley.

It wasn't long before the van slammed to a stop. She peered out the front window and saw the giant red cross of Gotham City General. _Here we go, puddin'. You're gonna be okay. _

* * *

"I'd like to admit a patient," Harley said, pointing a gun at one of the secretaries. She was a fairly old woman, grey hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Her lips were painted with red lipstick that only served to highlight the thinness of her mouth.

"H-Harley Quinn… who?"

She started to cry. "It's my Mister J. The Batman shot him!"

"What? B-Batman?! It can't have been… he…" The woman lifted her finger towards something on the far right wall and Harley glanced – a television. Her attention snapped back to the woman.

"I DON'T CARE! JUST ADMIT HIM!"

"N-Name?"

_She's just stalling. I can see them phoning the cops… it doesn't matter. I just have to save him. Save his life. Save my life. _

"HIS NAME IS PUDDIN'!" She fired a bullet into the woman's head and she slumped down. People screamed and ran. She turned around, crying, and saw them bringing him in. His arms were wrapped around two clown's necks, lifting his limp legs above the ground. She looked around and saw a young man on a wheelchair.

Quickly enough the man was on the floor and they were lowering Joker into the chair. Harley stripped off one of her gloves and pressed her fingers to his neck; his neck pulsed lightly and barely at all, but it was steal beating on.

She kicked one of the clowns out of the way, her leg flung high and slammed down on his head. Her hands gripped the wheelchair tight and they flew off down the corridor; people were screaming and running and hiding in rooms but she didn't care. She just wheeled. If he was awake, he'd be laughing right now.

But he wasn't. His head still drooped low, and as she ran down the corridors it bobbed lightly. She giggled a little, her face soaked and tears seeping down her corset. _After this is done we'll go on a holiday. Me and you… we can go to Coast City and set the beach on fire. IT'LL BE SO BEAUTIFUL, PUDDIN'._

All the way to surgery they ran. The corridors grew more stark and empty as she ran down them. Sometimes she noticed their eyes leering out at her. _STOP STARING AT MISTER J! HE'S GETS SELF-CONSCIOUS ABOUT HIS BULLETHOLES! _

She cursed the Batman under her breath. This was all _his_ fault.

When they burst into the surgical wing there was no one in the open area. The walls were white, but it was a dirty white – a tainted white. Just like the face of her puddin'. Behind her the footsteps of the thugs that were catching up with them, and in front of her she heard whimpers. They all came from behind the desk.

"GRAB ONE OF 'EM!" She shouted.

One of the clowns reached down and pulled a young woman from out behind the desk. He laughed a little as he did it, and Harley shot him an angry look.

"Please! Please don't _hurt_ us!"

"I need you to _**fix**_ him! He's sick!"

The woman's eyes were wide with confusion and it made Harley angry. She pointed her gun at her. "FIX HIM!" Harley shrieked.

"I-I'm not a doctor… I…"

"WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"They're… all on break." Her eyes lingered for too long on Joker's body and Harley shot her too.

The henchman dropped her body to the floor and there were more whimpers, but Harley Quinn did not care. Time was running out.

"Where are we going to get a doctor, Harley?"

"LET ME THINK! A doctor… a doctor… a doctor…"

One of the henchmen came closer to her. "Harley, ain't you a doctor?"

"No, nutjob! She's a head doctor. A shrink!"

A light bulb went off in her head. "B-But I had medical training. I can _save _my puddin'." She went over to him, still sitting there. In the distance she heard sirens.

Words slurred from his mouth. "Christmas time… mistletoe and _wineee._"

"See, he's losin' his mind!" She cried harder and screamed in his face. "It's February, puddin'!"

So many thoughts went through her troubled mind. She wouldn't lose him, not to the stupid Batman. She had to save him.

"I'm gonna save him. I'll get the bullet out and stich him up. I can _do _it."

And with that, they headed off to surgery, Harley wishing all the while she'd packed her nurse's uniform.

_He'd like to see that when he wakes up. He always does._


	10. The House Always Wins

**Author's Note: **It's been a little while. Trust me, this chapter has been in planning for some time. It's takes cues from a series called _Man of Steel_ you should look into if you get the time. It's narrated from three points of view - Lex Luthor, Booster Gold and the Man of Tomorrow himself. Originally I was intending to have a Superman chapter before this titled _Man of Yesterday_, but I decided against it. It was mostly character development, which is cool, but it was more or less simply offering a clearer view on what we already knew and I'm not in favour of that. Plot for the win, and this advances the plot immensely. If you don't read this, pretty much all of the future Superman/Lex plot will make no sense. So please, **enjoy! **Be sure to review, let me know what you think!

* * *

**THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS**

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, today you will witness humanity's future change course."

Lex Luthor smiled so generously at the world's press sitting before him, camera lined up at the front, behind them journalists of all walks of life scribbled on notepads. They hung on his every word, of course, as they always did – some of them more cynically than others, but that was no matter. Lex Luthor was not the news today, nor was the tower. The news lay elsewhere.

"With our feet planted firmly on the ground," he said, smiling at the hidden meanings, "we will rise higher than ever before. We need to look no further than this tower."

His fingers worked at the computer in front of him, moving the slideshow on the huge screen behind him forward. It was full of classic buzz-words that would appease the media and the people of Metropolis, written in big, friendly, inoffensive writing. Though he flicked the slideshow forward, the computer had other functions.

Just around the block, a massive explosion thundered out, blasting a building upwards. People from the crowd began to shout and scream. A plumage of smoke rose steadily, and soon they could see it from the peak of the LexCorp Spire.

_And it begins. _

* * *

Booster Gold heard the explosion from far off, and headed in its direction. His benefactor, Luthor, had built extra features into the suit, and one of the many was anti-gravity generators. It allowed him to fly unimpeded without the inconvenience of fire streams from his boots. Luthor had did Booster Gold a great service by helping him, and all the executive had asked in return was for his cooperation and assistance when things went wrong.

In the distance, black smoke writhed into the air, up and up. _And now something's wrong_, he thought, _and it's time to shine. _

He snaked through the buildings until he reached the smoking ruin of building and recognised it at once. The art deco-style monument rose up maybe a hundred feet before its brown stones and cream adornments turned to broke shards of jutted rock. He flew to the top and followed it down, looking for the source.

A set of stairs blocked off by fallen walls. _An explosion_, he recognised, feeling proud of himself. Now came the part he enjoyed most. Well, after the glory he got from the press, and recently, he'd been getting plenty of that. Luthor was helping with that too. He channelled and ushered them towards Booster, giving him attention that even Superman didn't get – the reign of the Kryptonian was over. It was Gold's time to fly.

Energy beams, yellow and ringed with orange and red, held aim on the debris for just a moment and then blasted a hole in it, giving him a way through. He skipped on down the stairs, eyes tripping around the room. The bodies were there and though he tried to avoid them, they looked at him.

He changed his vision to search for heat and was overwhelmed with red. Red and orange everywhere against the backdrop of yellow – the bombs had spread explosive fuel through the complex, and the walls had heated themselves up to the extent that heat vision was, unfortunately, useless. He'd have to resort to other methods.

Unfortunately, none came to mind. For now, Booster would just have to take a walk through the small corpses and hope. He hummed as he went.

Fires still burned on around the room, smoke filling it. Luckily the suit filtered out most of the smoke and fumes, and what it didn't floated up out of the holes in the ceilings where the sunlight was trying to force its way in. The smoke made that difficult.

A faint voice in the distance. Booster Gold, ever the detective, latched onto it and followed. It took him through one building and then over a ledge, and into another. The explosives hadn't come from here, he realised, they'd come from the next building over. Something had gone wrong, or something had been planned out very extensively indeed. Either way, there was still someone out here. Whether it was the bomber or a victim, he did not yet know.

_I hope it's the bomber, more flashes from the cameras if I catch the bomber._

The voice grew stronger and stronger as he went through the other building, realising what it was: an orphanage. There were far more bodies in here, and they were much, much smaller. Tiny bodies dotted around the place, strewn, body parts everywhere. And amidst it all, a small man hunched over one of them, crying hard.

"Dolly, Dolly, Dolly, I'm so _sorry… _this was supposed to be a robbery. This wasn't meant to happen. I'm so sorry. Never to children, never to my poor babes…"

Booster Gold walked over to the man he did not recognise but knew was the bomber, knew at once. His voice was high and wet with tears.

"You're coming with me," Booster Gold said, reaching his hand out for the bomber, but just when he was going to take him lightly by the arm outside and to the police, his glove clenched around the bomber's arm and the sound of snapping cartilage was distinct.

_Shit_, he thought. _What the hell? _

The glove ripped the bomber from the ground and Booster's boots up and away. He burst through the roof and the rest of it went tumbling down, just above the streets of Metropolis. He held out the bomber.

"IDENTIFY YOURSELF," said a voice from Booster Gold's mask that was not his own. It sounded like his, to be sure, but the voice was simulated. He tried to resist, tried to move from place to place, but he failed. The suit was in control. _Luthor, what have you done? What are you DOING TO ME? _"IDENTIFY YOURSELF TO THE WORLD, BOMBER."

A microphone projected his voice loud and clear over the streets. People looked up, hands pressed over their eyes to block out the sun.

"Winslow Schott."

"MORE COMMONLY KNOWN AS…"

"Some know me as Toyman."

* * *

_I know what you will do_, Lex thought, watching the news that had been projected up on the screen behind him, _because you have made clear what you refuse to. _He was waiting for the red and the blue, the sign that he was coming, swooping in to save the villain. Lex fiddled with the controls in front of him, watching Booster Gold dance like a puppet on strings.

_As hard as it is to believe, you are predictable. Your arrogance may exceed your extraordinary abilities, and it is that that will bring about your downfall. _

"How many people have you killed?" Booster Gold asked, speaking every word he was fed.

"Hundreds, HUNDREDS! And now I've killed l-little babies… all the little babies…"

_I have shown them fear with the deaths of a few children. The people just want someone with strength to swoop down like an avenging angel to take the fear away. __**Justice.**_

Helicopters surrounding the scene gave an overview of the situation, zooming in on"And what do you deserve?"

"I deserve… I deserve a chance to live."

"And will you continue to kill? Lying here will end one way. Death."

"I… I… don't know…"

Lex Luthor pressed one button and Booster Gold's glove released its grasp, letting the Toyman fall to the streets below, falling, falling, falling…

And then a glint of red and blue saved him, just like Lex knew he would.

_The justice they want is snatched from them, taken by the hero they've come to slowly like less and less, hate more and more._

* * *

Clark saw the reports on the news and felt that something was wrong. There was no delay in leaving the _Daily Planet_ building to find them. He felt a little guilty leaving Lois without a word of explanation, but she'd see it soon enough. She was a journalist, after all, working in the largest hub of information flow in the world.

He arrived just in time to catch Schott. A criminal or not, he didn't deserve to die. He floated down to the police and handed him over, then glanced back up. His eyes were on Booster Gold on that moment. A quick flash through his suit showed that it was indeed him. He rushed up there and hovered away from him.

"Why did you try and kill him, Booster Gold? That was murder. You're better than that."

Silence.

"I have to take you in."

There was a pause that seemed to last forever until Booster turned and flew away – fast, but not quite fast enough. _What are you doing, Michael? This is unlike you. _

He caught Booster over the Science Spire and gripped onto his wrist tightly; electric currents flowed into Superman, electrifying and hurting him. His back arched in a spasm and he recoiled from Booster, who still simply hung there. He did not run then. Booster reached up a hand and the circular pad began to charge a plasma beam. Though it could not hurt him, it would hurt Superman badly.

Heat vision on the hand blaster, and in return Booster brought his other hand around, balled in a fist, aiming for Superman's head.

The Man of Steel blocked the attack with his wrist and swung his own hand around, hoping to deal simply enough damage to render him unconscious. _This fight ends now. _

Only at the last moment before impact did he hear Michael Carter's screams.

"_CLARK! HELP ME! PLEASE STOP! IT'S NOT ME, IT'S –"_

Click.

His fist had barely touched the visor of Booster Gold when the suit exploded, the force sending Clark Kent back, tearing a hole in his cape, swirling through the air. Kal-El tumbled in free-fall before regaining himself, regaining control ten feet above a press conference being held below him.

He turned on them and the flashes went off before his eyes, cameras all aimed on him. Screams and questions he expected, roars of people confused or outraged. No.

_Silence. _

And then, a voice.

"I see your eyes," Lex Luthor screamed before the press of the world. "I know all of your remarkable _visions_, but let me tell you what you can't see – my soul. And there is not a soul in Metropolis that wouldn't have watched Booster Gold drop him, and given the same opportunity, done the same thing themselves. Not a soul. How does that make you feel… you **arrogant, alien bastard?!**"

Superman said nothing. He just stared at him, the man he once thought dead. The man he grieved over, as he would with Michael Carter.

"Your silence says everything," Lex said and turned, waving dismissively. "I hope this drives you back out to the blackness from where you came."

"Murderer!"

"You killed Booster!"

Back on the podium, Lex Luthor faced him. They stared at each other for a long moment and Kal-El knew that he'd failed. Luthor shook his head and the cameras moved between them. "Please," Lex pleaded. "Just fly away."

Superman left the scene, but their insults followed him all the way home.

* * *

_I know I can't beat you…_

_Alone._

_But then again, I'm not alone, am I? There are seven billion of me and only one of you. Separated from your allies, you are alone. Divided you will fall._

"We have known for some time that the alien was falling out of favour with the world, and I think he sensed that… and now he is a killer. With all his power, he uses it – for _this. _A force of nature, but he is not _natural._"

The cameras flashed and the journalists scribbled down his words.

"I'm saddened it's to come to this. I wanted this day to be about this spire, the celebration of humanity's success, not the falling of an idol. A _Superman_, but he is not a doesn't deserve the name. It's a name _we _gave to him in attempt to humanise him – as pointless as naming a hurricane. And he is a hurricane. Take a hurricane and multiply it by a thousand. That is what he is. Good riddance."

_Good riddance._


End file.
